Tale of Two Souls
by Out of Custody
Summary: Ed is not convinced she can be trusted, no witch can - but considring the circumstances, how long can his resistance stand? [EdMione] M for safety and because of later, gorier, scenes
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, after having finished Blueberry Muffin Girl I have decided it is the right time for another round of untimely submitted chapters to a pretty good story. This actually started out as a trial and then turned into a story that I'm halfway done with. Which, usually, would mean that a part should be uploaded quite quickly, but you know me. Unfortunately I have another two weeks or so of exams and then one more week of youngster-care and then I'd be ready to upload more regularly. **

**So right from the start, I'll promise you nothing. Only, that I'll see this story through. Deal?**

**Fine :) Enjoy!**

* * *

He was, still, not sure if that woman could be trusted.

Yes, Lucy trusted her, and Peter did and even more so Caspian and Susan, whom she had saved from the Falling Trees with her abrupt appearance, but Edmund was a little reserved.

Being Cair Paravel's Head Strategist and General, he knew that the easiest way to worm one's way into a group was by doing something good for them – at least half of the group would then be disposed to believe in them, from then on it was a game of charming words.

But she was different.

* * *

"_Arresto Momentum._"

And just like that the Falling Trees above them stopped – Susan, still out of breath, looked around for a second for Caspian, but he was already at her side, clutching her hand, giving it the tight, reassuring squeeze that she needed.

Whizzing her eyes through the density of the foliage, she grew conscious of a young woman, a sight to behold, standing atop of one of the first Falling Trees, her curls riotous around her face, she was wrapped in a black cloak, the kind she hadn't seen before, a cutlass at her hip, gleaming with a red ruby embedded at the hilt and then something that made Susan unsheathe one of her arrows, pointing it straight at the woman, still concentrated on slowly letting the trees down around them as they made their way to safety – a wand was clutched in her hand.

Caspian, next to her, looked at her with a strange gaze, but, Susan figured, he hadn't seen the White Witch back then.

"Who are you?", she asked, her voice strong as still, she neared the witch – for undoubtedly she was one.

The younger woman's gaze flickered to hers for only a second, before her attention returned to her spell, still lowering the gigantic trunks carefully. "Hermione Granger.", she replied curtly and with a soft voice. Soft but strong – and interesting mix.

"Are you a witch?", Susan asked.

The young woman suppressed a smirk – ah, there was the strength and the steel Susan had heard in the voice before. "Can you not see me wield a wand?", she asked in return.

Susan pulled her bowstring tight. "I will ask you, once, in peace: lower your wand and hand it over, come with us to Cair Paravel where we shall decide what to do with you."

The witch, though, was still busy taking care of the Falling Trees. "And who are you to demand such actions from me?", she asked in return – the quality of her voice now steely, stronger, curt, haughty… _challenging._

"Queen Susan the Gentle."

An amused smirk adorned the face of the witch who, by now, was staring down the bow of Susan. "The Gentle, aye?", she mocked, lowering her wand, around them the trees came crashing and Susan realized that all the young woman had waited for was for them to be in safety – still she did not set down the bow.

"I will come with you.", the witch, Hermione Granger, said. "But I cannot give you my wand. You will break it."

That… was quite true. "How will we know that we can trust you then?"

The woman tilted her head, smirking. "You just don't then."

* * *

Caspian had bound her hands, to which she had willingly agreed and also, just to be sure Susan supposed, wound a leash around her neck – the witch had said nothing, she had simply accepted what was being done to her. She did not want to pose a threat, the queen could tell, but still – better safe than sorry, as the saying went.

As they wandered back to Cair Paravel, she uttered not a word and Susan could see her taking in every detail of the world that was slowly revealed to her. She didn't look like someone who had been around for long and if Susan asked herself if, perhaps, the witch had just come to Narnia.

Her boots were flat, and of leather, encasing her legs as if they were made especially for her and no one else. The trousers, Susan hadn't seen such trousers in what appeared like ages, were of a _jeans_ tissue, ripped here and there, loose on her hips, singed, dirty. The shirt the witch wore was ripped as well, bloodied at some parts – as were the trousers – but definitely… _human_.

Why would a witch wear human clothes?

And what was it with her ragged appearance?

Now that she could get a better look, she could see the dirty hair, the skinniness of the body, the split lip, bloodied temple, the short, chapped, broken nails, the sunken eyes, and – now and then – the wounds on her arms.

Where did she come from?

She looked like she had fought a war – like she had been right there, in the first lines, battling, killing perhaps, but also defending what was hers to defend.

War was never a noble thing – not if it was waged for love, nor for glory, not even for your country. Susan knew. She knew what war could do to people, what war _did_ to people and it looked as if this witch had many stories to tell and many, _many_ nightmares to have.

As they broke through the thicket, the witch stopped for a second, eyes sweeping over the landscape from the mountain they stood on. Next to her, Caspian stood as well – Susan took the witch in. Her eyes were widened and the queen could see her pulse fluttering, as if she had not expected this.

"This,", she started, catching the witch's attention, "is Narnia. And there," she pointed to the sole castle, almost impossible to see, "is Cair Paravel, where we will take you."

Silently their prisoner nodded, still taking in the scenery. It _was_ a sight to behold, no question – they were mid-summer, the grasses green and high, dancing in the wind, the trees lush with leaves, the sky so beautiful it might as well have been around, the witch looked at the Forest Of The Falling Trees – a sombre spot compared to the rest of the world she had just seen.

"This is your Dark Forest, is it not?", she asked quietly – a non-offensive question, Susan decided to respond.

"It is. Not the darkest place in Narnia, but certainly not one of the places you go often."

Narrowed eyes cut her way. Suspicion tightly in the air, despite the face of the witch being void as a mask – Susan affirmed her own suspicions, definitely a warrior, that trick was pure war. "Then why were you in there?"

Caspian replied for the first time since they had caught the witch. "We were in search of Aslan…"

"Aslan?", the question was silent, almost as if she asked herself whether or not she had already heard the name once.

"The Great Lion. He vanished years ago but someone told us that he might return – we sent out search-parties, but wouldn't let anyone go near the Forest Of The Falling Trees, we went ourselves." Susan supplied.

The tension, while still there, slowly alleviated as the witch – Susan could barely believe it – smiled softly, lowering her head to let the bushy hair hide most of her face, but the queen could still see the tugging at her chapped lips, a secretive smile, a relieved smile. Susan did not question it – and the witch fell silent.

* * *

Five days into their travel, they finally stumbled upon Reepicheep – Edmund's most loyal Brigadier. Caspian halted his horse immediately, hoping to not trample the warrior down, even though he knew that the Commander had the quickest feet in all of Narnia, it still wouldn't do to clobber him with horse hooves.

"Your Majesties!", he called excitedly, making his way towards them, but stopping at a safe distance – apparently he was wary of horse-hooves as well. Behind him, the witch carefully lurked forth.

She was a curious being, no doubt – she liked to know about everything and Susan, in her cautiousness, appeared to have not answered every of the carefully asked questions to her satisfaction. For instance, she seemed to not have covered the Talking Animals – although the gasp that Caspian waited for never came, the witch solely observed.

"Reepicheep." The queen greeted. "What has you out here? Weren't you sent to the West?" she asked, willing her horse to calm so that the field mouse could mount and talk to her 'face-to-face', as it did.

"A few days ago, a dove reached us.", the mouse explained, "Aslan has entered the premises of Cair Paravel and the High King has called the troops back."

Only now he seemed to notice the witch behind Caspian's back, her hands around his middle, so as to hinder her from falling off and running, but – as always – she hadn't made a hostile move. "A prisoner, your majesty?" he asked, effortlessly climbing to Susan's shoulders and from there hopping to Caspian's, now indeed 'face-to-face' with their captive.

"A witch." Susan clarified. Reepicheep drew his sword almost instantly – the witch didn't even flinch.

"No need, Brigadier." She said softly, her voice strangely gentle. "I am bound, sir, and the majesties would not have brought me so far if I were a threat waiting to become a menace."

Which was true, but what startled the mouse – Caspian could tell – was the way she addressed him by his title, completely forgoing the underestimating-him-part as so many others normally did. Even he was surprised.

"How do you know of my rank?", he asked, voice hard, having regained his senses. And, even though he could not see it, Caspian knew that the witch was smiling ever so cautiously, her barely-there-smile, the one he'd seen on several occasions, not always, but sometimes it was there.

"Your badges, sir." She replied, her tone still gentle. "I recognize them."

Caspian caught Susan's eyes – a Daughter of Eve, then, and probably from the land that the Kings And Queens Of Old called Great Britain for Caspian knew that Edmund had installed the ranking himself as to bring order to the chaos that had been their militia.

The mouse probably came to the same conclusion, but said nothing, instead hopping back to Susan's horse. "We have been sent out to fetch you, your majesties, and it would be a great honour if you would allow us to accompany you back to Cair Paravel."

Susan smiled, a relieved smile, an honest smile – the kind of smile that he truly loved about her. "On the contrary, Reepicheep, it would be us that would be honoured."

And thusly the mice accompanied them back to their castle.

* * *

**And there we go, number one :)  
**

**Review please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I have an exam today that has me antsy and nervous - I though as an antidote I'd load up another chapter. Here you go. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The moment they touched down in Cair Paravel Susan could sense the relief of the witch, finally getting down from the horse. She did have experience in riding, no doubt, but even Caspian was relieved to finally get out of the saddle and touch solid ground once more – ten days on horse-back could do that to you.

She was surprised though, when the witch, turned to the horse and patted it on its' neck, despite her confinements, the queen listened in as the witch gracefully thanked the horse for having carried the two riders – Solomon snorted in response, making the witch smile softly.

Her smile was a curious thing. In the last days, Susan had seen it several times, when the birds chirped, when the villages' children that they passed played in the fields – it appeared that the little things seemed to make the woman _happy_ in a way. The things that Susan would die to protect. The tugging at her lips was small, barely there, but Susan had long but learned that it was the eyes that told all of the stories – the witch had guarded eyes, cold eyes, but in those moments, they softened, allowing a glimpse of hope, a small bit of satisfaction, shine through. It was the witch's smile – a careful smile, but a smile none the less.

As they parted from the horses, Caspian wound the leash back over the neck of the witch, she didn't complain, not even when he tugged to make sure it sat, even though Susan could see the rope digging into the wrists of their prisoner, and slightly at the neck when the King tugged.

Lucy was the first to greet them. In a flurry of red-brown robes she hurled across the court and right into Susan's arms.

"Susan!", she exclaimed happily, allowing the older sister to lift her up and hug her close. She had missed her brothers and her sister – but most of all her sister, the youngest amongst them, the one who enabled them all to _see_ the wardrobe and walk into it, meeting Aslan.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're back. I was all kinds of worried something might happen to you in the forest."

Lucy, on Peter's request, had had to stay back at the Castle with Peter and Edmund, to make sure that nothing would happen – plus, she was the youngest of them, and while she knew how to hold herself in battle, she would always be their youngest; always the one they wanted to protect the most.

As she set Lucy back down, she received hugs of Peter and Edmund as well, but Lucy had already moved on to Caspian and Susan's attention was back to the witch, gauging her next move – if she wanted to harm the Royals, now would be her perfect opportunity, all of them were there and none of them had noticed her.

It seemed to be one of the witch's abilities, to stay unseen even though it was day, but she was silent, and careful in her movements, not hasty, but quick, not abrupt but fluent – people barely noticed her until sometime later, even Reepicheep.

"Who did you bring?", it was Edmund who first noticed their captive – which was little surprising, he had a knack for details, and he was the most vigilant, had to be in his position as General.

"A captive." Caspian replied, tugging carefully at the leash, wordlessly commanding the witch to step forth – she did, without a glare lost at the King. Her head was held high, though not in a snobby way, her whole posture was straight, regal almost. "A Witch.", the King continued.

Susan could feel the change in Edmund, the sudden rigidity in his back, the tensing of his shoulders, the fisted hands. Edmund had little reason to trust a witch, more so than any of them – he had fallen for them once, he had made an effort to repay them for his treason, but it still weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Although before he could even make a step towards their captive, a smooth, deep voice interrupted him.

"Ah, Hermione." The witch in question turned, the smile – again – in her eyes, slightly tugging at her lips, but she didn't let it bloom on her face, as Aslan stepped into the court. Susan smiled openly – he looked every ounce the lion he had always been, the King Of Animals. His mane was as golden as always, his eyes dark and deep, full of love. "I had wondered when I would finally get to see you.", he said by way of greeting, butting her hands.

And, as if she had never feared lions, least of all speaking lions, the witch's hands crept forward, scratching him behind the ears – like a cat. The lion grumbled pleasantly in his chest.

"I have to admit, it took me all the way from the Dark Forest to realize where I had heard your name before.", she said in that quiet, melodic voice of hers. Susan only stared – if Aslan trusted her, she knew there was little reason to _not_ trust her. After all, he was their protector, the protector of all of Narnia, his reason never failed. "But then, I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, was I? Godric…"

Brushing over the face of the lion, Susan could see the witch's eyes leaking sorrow, great sorrow, hurt and pain, but it was gone the moment she had seen it. Aslan hummed low in his throat. "It has been a long time since I last walked your world going by that name." he said contemplatively.

The witch released a sort of 'hn' in her throat, a chuckle almost – the closest to a smile or a laugh she had seen her coming in the last ten days. "Indeed." She answered. "Over nine-hundred years now, soon a millennium." She responded. "Why am I here?" the witch then asked quietly.

The lion, butting her nose against her hands, vanished the ropes from her, and Susan watched as the witch rubbed her wrists, affirming the queen's suspicion that they had been constricting, painful and would probably leave scars, but the witch had not once uttered a word of complaint, had not once asked them to loosen them, she had simply accepted her fate.

Edmund, next to her, had still not loosened his stance, but Aslan turned and the witch followed – and so did the rest of them, curious about this new-comer.

"Our world, dearest… has been saved, as you know." Susan could not see the face of the woman, could not observe her emotions – it was a little disconcerting, but she trusted Aslan, and the witch had her back turned towards them, a more trusting gesture for someone who had been at war could not exist, they could kill her right now, but everyone knew they wouldn't.

"Yes. He fulfilled his prophecy – Riddle is gone."

"Why have you come here then, if not from fleeing from your war?", the lion asked, gentleness in his words.

"I…" she sought for words, but it was the first time that she did not find them… or maybe, did not want to say them in front of so many witnesses. They had arrived in the throne room, where Peter and Edmund instantly made for their thrones, as did Lucy – Susan and Caspian followed them, leaving the Lion to settle down on the plush, vermillion carpet, the witch next to him, unbothered by the fact that she did not have a chair. "You are aware, why – I suppose. I will not say the words."

There was harshness in her tone, defensiveness, and as Susan sat on her throne, she could finally see the face of the witch again – it was void, stony like a mask. The lion carefully butted his nose against her thigh, as if apologizing, as if to say that yes he knew, and he was sorry.

"The reason, Hermione, why you are here is because while your world no longer does, we will need you here."

Hurt in her eyes – pain across her face, Susan noticed the flashes of emotion, stored them away along with the words. How could a warrior not be needed in a land where terror had reigned? Where a war had been fought?

The witch regained composure as soon as it had left her – for an experienced warrior, she was still easy to read, but Susan doubted not that when _in_ war there would probably not be a single thing to read from her face, or her eyes.

"Will there be war?", she asked, brokenly – and the queen understood that she may have little desire to fight a war, again, when she had, so obviously, just come from one. This time, the lion raised his head, addressing all of those present.

"In the North, the Giants are drumming, for the war that has been waged in our world, the world I left to remain in Narnia forever, has impacted this world – as it has many others." The witch took the news in stony faced, her eyes telling Susan that she had suspected as much. It must have been a great war to influence so many worlds. "Darkness has descended and the Giants are recruiting, are forging. Here though," he turned to Hermione, "do you have the one power that they fear first and foremost."

Hermione gazed steadily at him. "Witchcraft, you mean."

The lion nodded. "You, my dear, have the power that their first queen held over them… _and_ you have a pact with the fire, if I read you correctly, the one element that is able to disturb their own anchors to the cold they bring with them."

The witch lowered her eyes. "You mean for me to fight this war…"

"Such is the dream I had." The lion responded as if the witch would know what that meant. "A dream of glimpses and faces, and yours at the front. Magic works differently here, I can speak words, but then… it would be the same as the dream."

"A Prophecy then." She mumbled, turning her face to look away, lost in thought. Her riotous curls were so similar to Aslan's mane despite the brown colour, there were leaves in it, streaks of gold and of russet, tangled snares – it looked endearing, though wild and untameable.

"I will." The witch said after a small silence, then. Turning back to look at the lion and then the Kings and Queens, her eyes seeking Susan's – the one person she had the best bond with, Susan understood. "I will fight the war."

"Do you expect something in return?" It was Peter's voice – low and strong, the voice of the High King in all his glory. The witch's eyes strayed to his face, his eyes, but her face betrayed nothing.

"Amnesty – for it might not do me good to be dead before the battle. Otherwise nothing, your majesty."

Aslan, still next to her, nodded sagely and Susan had to admit that with this one request, she had wiggled herself free. She could have asked for a bed, something to eat, gold, or anything else – but that would still have made her food for the people outside of Cair Paravel. But Amnesty would allow her to set foot wherever she wished and still be under their protection. It was a wise thing to ask for – telling.

Peter seemed to think so too, if the quick glance towards her was to go by. "You shall have it." He pronounced, asking a guardian to fetch for an amnesty wristlet – another invention of Edmund, who had soon deemed it unnecessary work to write Amnesty Scrolls for all the Telmarines that had converted; mostly because it had been him to write the Scrolls – plus the wristlet was harder to steal than a scroll.

The guardian returned within moments, the wristlet lying on a plush velvet pillow, handing it over to the High King, who then beckoned the witch closer. Edmund stiffened in his seat, but kept his mouth shut – Susan admired him for his maturity. At twenty-three he was finally getting the hang of it.

While the hot-head of the family was definitely Peter, Edmund was a close second, although Susan had an inkling that hormones were a lot to do with it. Nevertheless she admired his silence, despite his obvious dislike of the new-comer, he had yet to speak a word of disdain towards her.

When the wristlet was secured around the, still, reddened joint of the young woman – which, Susan realized with a pang of guilt, was indeed raw and from the ropes that would, very likely, leave scars – the witch retreated, bowing gracefully to the four of them.

"Where will you be?", Lucy asked carefully then and Susan realized that none of them had thought of that before – she had nowhere to go, after all, no place to be. The witch directed her eyes at the youngest queen, a gentleness pouring from her eyes that Susan had not seen before. Had she been protective of her youngest sister before, in case the witch would try something, she was now assured that the older woman would not harm her – people always tended to be like that with Lucy, she was easy to like, easy to wish to protect.

"I think the borders of the small wood we passed earlier would be a good place to be." She responded kindly, softly in the same tone that the witch had used with Solomon before, a warm and gentle melody.

The small wood she spoke of was barely five minutes from the castle walls – it was a gentle forest, though not large enough to actively host Talking Animals, those resided farther away yet, in the Forest Of Birches; a ten-minute ride from Cair Paravel.

"Would you not like to stay at the Castle?", she asked carefully – bending forth in her seat. From the corners of her eyes, she could see Edmund, still rigid, looking at her, asking himself, probably, if she had dropped from the horse and the fall had impaired her logic.

"Do you think it wise?", the witch asked in return, he tone still gentle, her eyes still soft, but her posture defensive, her shoulders tensed. Aslan stood quietly, shaking his mane and his body – the witch paid him little heed.

"Witches are not very welcome in our world." Susan replied. "You might encounter people and animals that would wish for your demise."

The witch – Hermione, she remembered then – did not loosen her stance, her eyes masked her emotions again, and the small tug of her lips froze for only a second, before she responded. "I have ways to assure that no harm would befall me. But what would your people think if word came around that you are housing a witch?"

Susan had not thought of that yet – indeed, the residents of Cair Paravel would grow suspicious if it was to be known that a witch stayed with them. People needed time to get used to her, and the only way to do that was to assure that they had the possibility to get to know her.

"Then so may it be." She answered. "If it is your wish, then I have no reason to deny you."

The witch, again, bowed gracefully, before leaving the room – Aslan looking after her.

* * *

**Please Review! (honestly :( I want those reviews, say what you're thinking so far)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, only two more exams ahead of me and one of the really hard ones mastered, as I just realized, so here you go, two more :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"You brought a witch to Cair Paravel?" Edmund asked, his tone exasperated and slightly angry – Caspian smiled secretly, he'd waited for the outburst, but was impressed with how long his fellow King had held out.

"I do not think she is danger.", Lucy responded in her usual gentle voice – Edmund seemed to care little.

"We cannot know that." He retorted. "She just arrived today. Letting her go with an Amnesty Wristlet gives her all the liberty she needed! She could do anything right now."

Caspian had to agree that, if the witch wanted to harm people, now would be the best moment. But then… "She has not once shown hostility towards any of us." He said softly. "Not when I bound her, not when I collared her. Not a word of complaint has left her lips – she accepted the little food we accorded her, hoping to weaken her and make her complacent. She is vigilant, I agree, and it is obvious she has fought a war, but she has made not a single step out of the line we allowed her."

Which was true. Not once had the witch tried to run or take advantage of anything – even though she could have. She did not sleep, even though she closed her eyes to make it appear so, but Caspian could see that her breath had not evened out or her posture relax, she had not run despite of everything, despite still having her wand, which, he was sure, she would have been able to free herself with.

"She saved us from the Falling Trees.", Susan threw in. "Did not deny that she was a witch and allowed us to take her with us. Not once has she threatened anyone, not Reepicheep, not his army, not even you. I say we give her time, let her adjust, let her see and quell her curiosity. I do not think that she is a threat."

Edmund, fed up with what he supposed was ill-reasoning, threw his hands into the air, and slumped, defeated into his throne. "If anything should happen, I will be there to say 'I told you so'." He grumbled.

Aslan laughed softly, nearing him. "Edmund,", he started softly. "Not all witches are bad." He began. "I come from Hermione's world. It can be a wonderful world, but a very haunted world as well – cruel, oppressing. In my time, the Church began invading, as it should be, finding ways to torture witches and wizards, convinced they were the making of the Devil. I had friends back then, two witches and a wizard – they were powerful, and sorrowful and we decided that we would built a refuge for those pursued."

Lucy tilted her head. "Is that why she called you Godric, then?", she asked carefully. "You said you haven't gone by that name in a long time."

The lion smiled benignly at her. "Indeed. My name was Godric Aslan Gryffindor – and I built a school, for Witchcraft and Wizardry. And Hermione is a witch, she has been trained in my school, has been sorted into my house – Gryffindor house. My friend called it the House where dwell the brave at heart."

Peter sent him a look. "But then, how come you are here? How come she is here?"

"Ah, that, my friend is a long story." The lion knelt down again. "For I was sent here when my work was done – the Fates have much in store for those they look upon. And I was given this task to protect Narnia, to guide the Kings and Queens to come and I embraced it. Hermione, is here for aid, for help and support. Here to mend what has been broken inside of her and to protect what has now been thrust upon her. She is a good kind… trust me."

"But there is darkness within her." Edmund said. "I have felt it…"

Caspian knew of Edmund's story and the White Witch, but only from the other siblings – the affected one himself never talked of it and avoided the subject to the best of his abilities. To him this was the greatest shock probably.

Aslan hummed. "Naturally there is." The lion said. "As there is darkness in everyone, Edmund – she has felt it as well, has let it resurface and take over, for it needed to in the times of war, where the first casualty is innocence. To shield herself, her sanity, she has had to let the dark rule her, take over, make decisions for her. She knows this, she remembers it, and the greater part of her, the one that is light, feels guilty, unworthy – because that is the task of the light. But yes, the darkness is there."

Edmund then fell silent, pondering the words of the wise creature. Aslan stood again, shaking his mane.

"I will stand by your side in this war – I cannot leave you in these times. But now I have a sixth warden and I need take care of her too. Tomorrow I will go to her."

"Would you mind me coming?" Lucy asked – the lion smiled again, shaking his head; Caspian admired the young queen for her bravery, her curiosity and her unwavering loyalty to the golden lion.

"I would think it a wise idea for you to accompany me."

* * *

A witch.

Edmund could still not believe it. They had let a witch into Cair Paravel and had not even imprisoned her – for all the knew she could wreak havoc right now with the citizens of Narnia. Christ, for all they knew she wasn't even in Narnia anymore but in Grosheim already with the Giants, preparing for an invasion.

But Aslan trusted her.

Yes, and that was a good reason to be less wary of her – for everyone else. Edmund sighed, the sound disturbing the peaceful quiet of his library where he had ensconced himself since the meeting with their protector. He had a history witch witches, the bad kind, apparently, and there were good witches as well, it seemed. Not that Edmund had ever known any.

But then, his rational side, conceded, he had also only known _one_ witch, and there seemed to be a whole plethora of them in the world where Aslan and the witch Hermione came from. Still, he found little reason to let his guard down as readily as his siblings did – even if I was only for emotional reasons.

* * *

Hermione huffed, stapling the last of the big stones she had found in the nearby wood on the pile she already had collected. It wasn't nearly enough for a house yet, but it soon would be – hopefully. For tonight, it was enough to at least build a small hidey-hole where she could lay her head and sleep.

The sun was setting, painting the sky above her in lilac and violet hues, a beautiful sight, with the first stars coming out, the loon hovering above the forest.

This was a foreign land to her, new territory, but she had seen the country, the villages and the inhabitants of _Narnia_. She had never heard of such a place – and if she was quite honest with herself, she missed Scotland, the cold draughts that swept over the landscape, even in summer, and Hogwarts Castle.

Turning, she looked to Cair Paravel – another outlandish name, yet foreign on her tongue and in her mind – seeing the illuminated windows. A little of her home-sickness vanished then, it almost looked like Hogwarts, save for the missing lake. A wry grin then appeared on her face as she took in the pile of stones next to her. If this was Hogwarts, then her hut would be the equivalent of Hagrid's hut.

A wave of her wand arranged the pile of stones into a small resting place. Tiredly, she crept in, her purse clutched into her hands. She was glad to still have everything from the run with her. The books, the cauldrons, clothes to change, potions and their ingredients, and even the Dress Robes she had worn at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Adjusting in the narrow stone-tent, she waved her wand a few times, cushioning the floor, warding the entrance of her igloo. She _had_ set up wards around the perimeter she had chosen for herself, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

Carefully bedding her head on her arms, she listened to the swaying of the high grass around her, the song of the nightingale – birds had rarely sung during her last months in Great Britain. As if the birds had known of the rise of the Darkness, no matter what world, they had stilled their songs.

It was a relieving sound – a sound to which she fell asleep, dreaming, thankfully nothing.

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**Thank you for your reviews: _renaid _(it's good to hear you so enthusiastic again!),_ LabyrinthChild05_ (I thought it was a valid idea ;b), _nikyta_ (thank you - I hope I'll manage to continue in such a way that it stays the same!), _Gandalf's Beard_ (1: yes they're out of character, they will have to be for a fanfic ;); 2: I don't think I'll go there with this ship - yet, I intend to one day but not yet... and there's never enough riotous curls! - thank you, didn't notice actually), _livelaughlovenarnia_ (I intend to - thank you for the enthusiasm about this!), _hermionefan1999_ (I'll do my best ;)) and _HollowBerryThorn_ (sadly probably mostly because of the blood and gore coming later on :/ .. but perhaps I'll throw one in, who knows?!)  
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	4. Chapter 4

**And the second chapter for today, because I'm in an awfully good mood :)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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Lucy found the witch piling together stones. She was dressed in black trousers today, stuffed into her boots, as the day before, a sea-green, long-sleeved shirt, two sizes too large for her, if Lucy had to guess, hiding her upper body.

She was sweating, Lucy could tell, probably from the work she was doing, and the queen was somewhat sure that if she had changes, there would also be short-sleeved shirts, but still the witch had opted for a long-sleeved one. The youngest Pevensie guessed silently that she had something to hide… scars perhaps, from the war she had fought.

Next to her, Aslan walked on silent paws, parting the high grass around them – birds sang in the air, flying here and there, catching worms and feeding them to their small ones.

Hermione's hair was still a mess, she assessed from afar, but could tell that the witch had at least taken care of her wounds – the split lip was healed, as was the gash on her temple and Lucy wondered about her powers, but cleverly said nothing.

"Good morning, Hermione.", Aslan greeted her, allowing the witch to realize they were there.

The older woman turned, her cheeks rosy, the hair at her temple clinging to her skin – Lucy wondered how long she was already up, considering that there were two piles of stones, one, neatly arranged in what appeared to be a sleeping contraption, and another one, bigger this time, next to it.

"Good morning, Aslan." The witch greeted back, before bowing to Lucy. "Good morning, your majesty."

She liked her voice – it was smooth and melodic, gentle despite its strength and clarity. A voice could tell a lot of things, Lucy believed, an irritating voice belonged to an equally irritating character, as did a haughty voice. There were, of course, always several sides to a person, but Lucy knew that she could trust Hermione.

"Good morning, Hermione." She greeted, seeing the slight shine of surprise in the witch's eyes. "How have you slept?"

A wry expression flittered over the face of the young woman, as she turned, motioning for them to join her – they did without hesitation. "Well enough, considering I had a Cushioning Charm under me and a stony roof above my head."

A -? "What is a Cushioning Charm?" Lucy asked, curious about everything new that this stranger could teach her.

"It is a spell designed to make hard places more bearable to sit on, or rest on. It creates something like a vacuum between you and the object, only, it is so slight it is barely noticeable, safe for the one at the receiving end of a Cushioning Charm."

Lucy's eyes brightened. "Would you… would you mind telling me about yourself?" she asked, traversing the wood at her side. "I mean… if you don't want to that is alright, but I would like to know about you." She said hastily.

And then, for the first time since she had seen her, Hermione let the smile spread over her face. Lucy had noticed that the young woman was always on guard, always keeping her mask intact – and she was honoured, and very, very proud secretly, to be the first one to see that mask drop.

"I come from Great Britain," she started, reaching the nearby river. Ah, that's where she got the stones from then. "I have grown up in London, my parents were dentists." It did not pass Lucy's notice that she spoke of her parents in the past tense, but she did not prod. "When I was eleven, I was accepted into Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft – a school that Aslan, or Godric as we know him in my world, helped to build. I made friends, reluctant ones, but friends none-the-less and despite being a bookish, indoorsy-type of person, never one to break the rules, we got into a lot of trouble over the years."

The witch stopped her story shortly, picking out a stone and, for a second, placing her hand on it a contemplative look on her face, before she nodded and dislodged the stone from its place. Lucy watched, accompanying her when they made it back to Hermione's campsite.

"And one of those two friends was involved into a prophecy – that he would be the one with the power to defeat a great dark man, by the name of Lord Voldemort, if anyone. It was a long time, but in my seventh year, my friends and I went to war. We hunted dark objects down that held a piece of the soul of the dark man. They would have enabled him to come back to live if he would have been killed."

Lucy did not need to ask more – she could see the torment and the pain on Hermione's face. And she was a patient listener, she knew that sooner or later, everyone had a desire to confess, and by silence and winning people's trust you were often chosen to be the listening ear. Lucy knew great a many secrets of citizens of Narnia, but she was a good friend and a good person – never would she divulge them.

"And so, as we were asked to, we destroyed those dark objects, one by one and by the end of the year, faced the dark wizard." She stopped, lowering the stone atop the pile she accumulated already. "Because, you need to know, there are good witches and wizards, and there are dark witches and wizards. And we differ by our intentions. The man, was a dark wizard, with the intention of killing people that did not come up to his standards."

It sounded like Hitler – the man who had last invaded the world, intent on ridding it from those of un-pure provenance. Lucy held her tongue, following the witch as she returned to the river.

"In May, we faced him in the battle that was called The Battle Of Hogwarts, in our world. It was a bloody battle, ugly and disgusting to the core. It lasted a day and a night and then, in the morning of the Second May, we won. My friend brought down the dark wizard and his followers fled the scene, most were caught, but not all. The side of the light had won."

Lucy stood by the riverside, watching as Hermione traipsed in the bed, looking out for another stone which she found soon – re-enacting the procedure from before.

"Then why are you here?" Lucy asked when the witch came out of the river-bed again, stone secured in her arms. She had strong arms, muscled, but not overly so – just the right amount to do hard work and still look feminine.

The witch, she couldn't believe that she only now realized it, pulled her lower lip in, chewing with her upper teeth on it – recalling yesterday's events, she noticed that Hermione had done so as well in their Throne Room. The older woman sent a quick glance towards Aslan, who walked with them, silent as he listened.

"I was no longer needed.", she said then. "My friends were fine with having won the war and were famed for their achievements. I did not want the glory – and they didn't understand. Unfortunately we parted with angry words… or rather, no words at all and just angry glares. Hence, I am not needed anymore in that world. My friends need to grow up, and they cannot do that with me at their side, who has always made sure that everything would be alright. I went into the forest, to get a bit of air… and all of a sudden all I saw was your queen and the king, surrounded by falling trees, I did the first thing that came to mind."

And Lucy was grateful for that – truly. The Forest Of The Falling Trees had a reputation of burying people. She smirked a little.

"Susan and Caspian went there to see if they would find Aslan and found a witch that was in his house.", she said with a grin, looking at the witch. Hermione nodded as well, mirth sparkling in their eyes.

"I thought it was ironic as well when they told me that Aslan is the great lion protector of Narnia. At Hogwarts, the lion was the crest of house Gryffindor."

Aslan proudly raised his head. "Well, Hermione, the lion is the crest of all of Narnia."

The witch laughed, a short, sharp sound, but lovely nonetheless. "Build a castle to house students and what do they give you – a country that bears you proudly on their banners."

Lucy smiled, accompanying the witch back to the river – it was a good thing to see the witch thaw up as she did. She was a lovely person, wild, yes, strong but also caring, Lucy could tell. As she stood by the river, the witch about to climb out of the bed with another stone, the queen took it from her, meeting the questing eyes.

"Well, if I accompany you running from A to B carrying stones while I ask holes into your back, I might as well help you while talking. Quid pro Quo, right?"

For a second the woman was silent – then smiled, nodding. "Right."

* * *

Peter was in the throne room when Lucy returned listening to the Lords of Narnia and their reports. It appeared that what Aslan had said was indeed true, for the woods in the North grew void of creatures that followed the drums of the Giants.

Edmund, next to him had an equally pensive mine, reasons and tactics probably already piling in his head. His brother, though he did not often show it, was a quiet genius. Where he applied himself, nothing but success could bloom, no matter what field – be it mechanics, politics, weaponry, or anything else really. Sometimes Peter thought that Edmund would make for a much better High King than he himself, but his brother was also a background-player, never fond of the lime-light.

Lucy quietly traversed the room, Aslan at her side, her attention on the talking Lord already, her face a quiet mine of understanding and gentleness.

"Lord Aeron,", he asked when the Commander of the North had ended his report. "How much time would you give us?"

"A month and a half probably. The giants are, as of yet, only recruiting, but they aren't exactly known for their patience and as the word is travelling, troops will join them as they march I assume."

"Who is their leader?", Edmund wanted to know – but the Lord shook his head.

"There are only rumours about the Wolf and Minotaur, who once served the White Witch, but I cannot prove them true. For all I know it could be the giants splitting up to take over several tasks."

Which was a good guess – Peter mused as the meeting split up and Lords bowed in respect as they left. Silence settled over the Assembly Hall, Edmund pondering on the words, as was Peter, Lucy lost in her own world.

"How was your day?", Peter asked then – hoping to escape the world of battle and war for a little. Lucy looked up, smiling softly. Due to the warm weather she was dressed in a skirt and a sleeveless, light-brown blouse. It was a little rumpled, and she looked a little parched, her hair sticking out here and there, nevertheless she looked content with herself.

"I talked to Hermione today." She said, petting Aslan, who had closed his eyes, dozing in the warm rays of the sun. Edmund's mouth twitched in disdain, but he held his tongue – Peter, silently, congratulated him. "She is a very interesting witch." His sister said. "Willing to fight for this land. I helped her collect stones for her hut. And she told me a little of herself – she is very strong, very… independent. But also… lonely, I think."

The word, he could see, did not quite stick right with her but it was the best she could apparently come up with.

"Well… she is a witch, I have never known them to be social." Edmund snarked, but Lucy only shook her head.

"She has left friends behind. People she fought for, Edmund. I think she would make a great friend, a protective friend – she's just… oh I don't know." The queen sighed. Aslan opened an eye, lazily, relishing in the loving care Lucy bestowed on him now that she had slipped from her throne to kneel next to the lion.

"Solitary." He supplied. "Hermione is solitary. She knows little of this world and has realized that no great love will be given to her here."

Lucy pulled a pouty face, as she continued to pet the lion. "She's building a house." She said then, her eyes gleaming happily. "All on her own! And I helped her fetch the stones today from the river."

Yes, she had already said that – but Peter didn't dare remind her, Lucy was, after all, the apple of their eyes. "She told me that she didn't need much, only a place where she could cook and sleep, stay in when it rains. I hope it doesn't rain…"

But the sky was clear, Peter knew, there wouldn't be rain in a week probably. But then, he reasoned, in a week it would probably rain for a whole day before the sun would peek out again, and if the witch started to build her hut then… well, it could get tricky.

"And she can do wonderful magic." The young queen said, smiling. "She showed me some. There is a spell that allows a person to sit cushioned on a hard surface. It is even called a Cushioning Charm."

Well, Peter surmised, if the witch could do good magic and had done it for Lucy she must be something else.

"And she let me hold Godric's sword today." The lion huffed a small smile – ah, yes, Peter remembered that the witch had called Aslan by that name and Aslan had affirmed that, lifetimes ago, he had gone by that name, in another world. But for the witch to let Lucy hold that sword, she must trust her then. It was a beautiful sword from what Peter remembered, a slender blade, not too short, not too long, but strongly forged, well crafted, and with only a ruby at its hilt for adornment.

"There's a strange language on it though. I didn't ask Hermione about it…"

The lion grumbled pleasantly in his throat. "It's Gobblegook." He said. "The language of Goblins, for I had it forged by them, when they were still the friends of wizards. That was a long time ago though."

Goblins? Well, what a strange world theirs was! What was a goblin anyway? Some sort of dwarf? Hm…

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**Thank you for reading!  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Agreed, I did take one hell of a time to upload again, but I hope, still, that you might enjoy**

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Susan visited her the next day.

Aslan, as with Lucy the day before, at her side. It seemed that the royalties felt safer with him at their side – which she could understand. After all, he was the protector of their realm, if she should try some funny business, Aslan would be there to jump between her and them.

Lucy, yesterday, had been a lot of help. The whole day she had searched the river behind the small wood for appropriate stones to pile up in the mockery of a wall and it seemed that in a few days, her search would be finished and she would be able to start on her hut in earnest.

In all honesty she could say that, while she had read books on architecture and construction, she had never before _built_ a house. A tripod, yes, when she had still been a Scout before going to Hogwarts, and she _was_ familiar with knots thanks to her Scout Master but an actual house? Well, she had always been up to a challenge, hadn't she?

Susan was more of a hands-on person. The moment she realized that Hermione was fetching stones, she joined her in the river-bed looking for a good stone. The witch looked at her as she grabbed one, appropriate in size and proportion but…

"Have you asked it?", she wanted to know carefully. Susan looked at her in silence.

"Asked it?", she repeated. Hermione nodded.

"A friend of mine taught me that it is important to ask everyone and everything if it wanted to serve for the purpose you were going to use it for. Have you asked the stone if it was willing to join the others to make a house?"

When Luna had proposed the idea to her, Hermione had written it off as her usual lunacy – especially when it was about potions ingredients. But she had soon realized that everything was infused with magic, and those that were collected unwilling tended to water the potion down. It had puzzled her when she had found this at the end of her experiment – because she was Hermione Granger and she had to give credit to every theory – but she had soon adapted to Luna's ways, had apologized and thanked her.

Luna, of all the improbable people, was the person she missed the most. Not Harry or Ron, who had both been frayed from battle and not too happy with her suggestion that she'd return to the school or go to a school abroad, because they wanted her near them for selfish reasons. But Luna had always accepted her as she was, even when she was an intolerable, know-it-all with her nose stuck in the air because she thought she knew _everything_ better. Luna had shown her otherwise.

Susan stared at her and then at the stone in her arms and Hermione could see her lips quietly moving, asking the stone, taking her seriously. It was interesting, how quickly the queen responded to her proposition, how she didn't find it odd at all. And how she then looked up, amazement in her eyes.

"It's thrumming." She said quietly – and Hermione smiled softly, gifting the queen with the fond expression she knew Susan had wished to see for a while.

"Yes it is." Hermione explained. "Because everything has magic in it. The grass, the Talking Animals, the castle, and the stones that make the castle. Your castle is standing, because the stones wish to provide shelter, to provide protection – if they wouldn't, your castle would, by now, need a lot of repairs."

The queen nodded, looking the stone again, smiling before she looked at her again. "It's agreeing."

Hermione nodded, smiling, before she bent to sweep her fingers over the stone she had chosen. As Susan, she could feel the acquiescing thrum of the stone on her skin, and lifted it gently from the riverbed, making her way back to her site, Susan on her side.

"You know,", the queen said softly, "I never thanked you for saving Caspian and me in that forest."

The curly-haired witch shook her head. "Honestly, your majesty, there is little thank for. I reacted and I am glad my magic worked the trick. Otherwise I would have been as lost in those trees as you two would have been."

The older woman nodded quietly, following her to the campsite, gently lowering the stone to the ground, still smiling with the novelty of feeling it thrum. Aslan dozed gently in the sun, enjoying the warm rays, a pair of Brimstone Butterflies circling his form, dancing in the gentle breeze.

"Lucy told me of your talk yesterday." Hermione smiled gently, knowing that what she would say to one sibling, she told, in effect, all siblings – the four of them where a lot like the twins in that aspect. "She told me you come from Great Britain." Hermione nodded. "Could you… tell me how it is there? What year do you even come from? I mean… well… we've been here since the end of the war."

Hermione listened up. Time went differently here then. "How many years have you been here, if I might ask?", she responded, relishing in the cool shade of the trees they traversed as in contrast to the glare of the sun.

"Five years. Lucy was eleven when we came back last time, she's sixteen now."

The witch nodded. "When I left, we had the year 1998. So… if you say the end of the war, I guess that would mean your last year in Great Britain was 1945."Susan nodded, a bit pale. Hermione smiled, opting for 'reassuring'. "Don't worry. Britain is fine, a lot of things happened, but the Isles are largely in a good shape. And time in magical places always passes differently."

The queen nodded and said nothing as they reached the river, searching for stones again. Hermione was pleased to see that the older woman employed the method of asking she had developed just a few minutes ago, wandering from stone to stone until she found one and hefted it up. It was a good stone, sturdy, healthy – Hermione was glad that she had someone to help her.

As they settled the stones to the rest of the pile the witch was happy to see that it was steadily growing. Even though she trusted her wand-work, she wasn't keen on sleeping on a Cushioning Charm much longer.

"It's strange, you know." The queen broke her silent musing and Hermione turned, seeing her watching the lazy Aslan swish away flies with his tail. "We have magic all around us and yet it never ceases to… well, frighten us in a way when it comes from a human being." Susan turned, catching her eyes. "I can feel that you are no threat… and you saved us from the Trees, and still I am apprehensive."

Hermione gave her a nod, starting towards the wood again, Susan followed. "I know what you mean. When I was eleven and accepted into Hogwarts, I had difficulties believing as well. A teacher from there was sent to my family, since we are all non-magical, and showed me what magic was, what it could do. I was frightened at first and then excited. Because, well, it explained everything."

Fondly she remembered her former Head Of House, the day she first appeared on her door-step with a letter and a tale of a completely foreign world hidden in their own.

"Like?"

The witch hummed. "Like… when I was little, things tended to happen. Every time I got angry something exploded, for example, or books would fly towards me when I couldn't reach them. I was scared of what I could do back then – and I tried to learn to suppress it, but the more I suppressed it, the more accidents happened. So I started to live with it, tried to cultivate it in the secrecy of my room. When the witch arrived… well, I was afraid at first that she would try to manipulate me and when she showed me the letter, telling me that there were other people like me, it was a relief, I was excited to learn more about that. And I grew to love that world."

So much, actually that she would have died for it – she still would. But now, Wizarding Britain did not need her anymore, her task there was done, she had helped Harry the best she could. Now Narnia needed her.

"If you… don't mind me asking, and I know it's asking a lot, but what was the war about? Lucy was very vague about it."

Hermione smiled gently. "That's because I didn't go into much detail with your sister. She is very young."

Susan nodded, stepping into the river before she did. "Lucy is, but she has also seen two wars already – participated in them even. Would it have been for my decision I would have locked her away so she would never need to see it, but she's also very headstrong."

Hermione, picking a stone, smiled. "She knows what she wants, there is that. If I tell you about my war, would you tell me about yours?"

The queen agreed and so, while they went back and forth between Hermione's campsite and the river, she relayed the prophecy, the story of Harry, Ron and herself, the Horcrux hunt, the dark wizard and the war they had waged. She conveniently left out the tortures she had endured, the hexes she had caught… the scars that marred her. She was not proud of them. Never had she been a vain girl, she was convinced that she had never beheld beauty – like the queen next to her – but the scars, oh the scars. Every single one of them mocked her for her weakness, for her failures. She did not want to see them, did not want to acknowledge them, and yet they were there, every time she woke in the morning.

And sometimes the remnants of Bellatrix' curse would haunt her, would make her cramp in agony, twitch as a feeling of electrification coursed through her body. She hated it – every single time; hated the fact that she had been weak, not strong enough to save the three of them from the Snatchers, hated the fact that, without fault, she always vomited after a bout of it, that she could not move for a day afterwards, that she could not hold in the whimpers of pain.

But her thoughts were taken off the loathing as she listened to the queen telling her stories of their own wars: of the White Witch who had seduced Edmund into her clutches and of the Telmarines who had attempted to rule unrightfully over Narnia and its creatures, tried to oppress the Talking Animals. When she had come to an end, Hermione said nothing at first.

"Well…", she started then, "it's little wonder the King Edmund has little friendship lost for a witch then, your majesty." She said.

Susan smiled ruefully. "In a way – yes, it is not very surprising. But Aslan himself has claimed you for a descendant of his and Edmund was there."

"Your majesty, if you don't mind me berating, but those things tend to go deep. He is scared, not for himself, but for you – for the fault he has committed, the weakness he has shown, and at such a tender age as well. It cannot be easy for him to forgive himself."

The queen smiled openly. "I wouldn't take that as berating at all, Hermione." She said. "In fact, I think that is one of the most accurate descriptions of Edmund for someone who barely knows him. And _please_," she implored, "drop the title. It's… well it's very odd, talking to you like this and being reminded of my standing."

Hermione, despite knowing better and knowing that this would, undoubtedly, create something like a bond of friendship between them – heeded her plea, a demand since she was a queen, and, for the remaining day, did not address her by her title anymore.

* * *

Susan entered the Castle by nightfall.

She was worn and tired, but also content with her accomplishments. Hermione had wagered that perhaps she only need go search for stones the next day before starting with her hut – which was good, and Susan was happy that she had helped.

Lucy was in the kitchens when she arrived, nibbling on some fruit that the staff had prepared for her as she sat near the fireplace, reading a novel. Susan knew that dinner had already been served, but the staff had been kind enough to keep something for her, ushering her in a seat next to Lucy and soon presenting her with a bowl of hot stew – her favourite.

As she dug in, she noticed that Lucy stopped reading, sending her a questioning look. Susan swallowed, ripping off a piece of bread, before she started talking.

"I went to Hermione today.", she said.

Lucy nodded. "I guessed so, Aslan was gone the whole day."

Susan giggled softly. "He lay in the sun all day. I swear if he would have been human he would probably have a sun-burn by now."

Her youngest sister joined her giggles, but soon looked at her again, waiting for what she was sure to be the verdict of her older sister – Susan took her time, relishing in the taste of the stew. It was almost as good as home. About to start her story, she was interrupted when both Edmund and Peter came down the stairs, carrying a chess set with them.

It had become somewhat of a tradition for the family to find itself in the kitchen after a day of working, simply watching the staff putter away, preparing for the next day, before they would leave. At first they had been apprehensive, but over time they had realized that the presence of the royalty in their kitchen had little to do with their performance instead of simply relaxing after a day of work.

Peter caught her eye, sitting down next to her, Edmund opposite of him, next to Lucy. "So, how was your day with our resident witch?" her older brother asked her – Edmund's face, relaxed until a moment before, froze, slowly turning into a mask, a clear sign that he, still, disapproved of Hermione.

"Interesting.", she said, gobbling up the remnants of her stew, dabbing the sauce up with the bread. "I was taught that even stones have inherent magic."

Lucy looked interested and, tearing her gaze off Edmund, she instead focused on her curious youngest sibling. "I wanted to help her with carrying the stones and she told me that… well I had to _ask _the stone if it was willing to be a part of the hut. And it _thrummed_! Can you believe that? It hummed in my arms and I'm not a witch! But she told me that everything had a magical core and that hence, everything had a will of its own, and that I should ask."

"Did she tell you something about the war she came from?" Edmund asked – surprising Susan. Well then again… he was General of the Narnian Forces, so why not ask about war, it was a safe topic probably.

"She did." Susan admitted. "It was… not so unlike what Hitler tried to do back in our time. The dark wizard she spoke of to Lucy, well he had a credo that all muggle-borns and half-bloods were _unworthy_ of magic and should hence be disposed off."

"Muggle-borns?" Peter asked.

"Oh! Yes! Uhmm…" she tried to remember what Hermione had told her. "Um… if I remember correctly then wizards and witches exist since… well, ever. And there are those who have a Family Tree that consists only of witches and wizards, those are called pure-bloods. And the complete opposite of them would be muggle-borns. Muggles are people like you and me, without any magic at all, but now and then it just so happens that a muggle couple gives birth to a muggle who _has_ magic – and those are called muggle-borns."

"And the half-bloods then – are those people with a magical and a non-magical parent?", Lucy asked.

Susan nodded. "And Hermione is… well Hermione is a muggle-born, her parents were dentists. She was a part of a group that was right in the front lines of the war and therefore a high-profile – she _obliviated_ I believe she called it, her parents. Erased their memories of her and sent them to Australia to keep them safe."

Lucy's eyes grew wide – much as hers had in the first moment. They had all experienced the pain of not having their mother at their side, but they had chosen Narnia. Hermione may have chosen the Wizarding World, but she had not chosen the war – she had been thrust into the throes of it, and, to keep her parents safe, had erased herself from their memories, for ever. It was a great sacrifice in Susan's opinion.

"And they won the war?" Peter wanted to know, hoping to steer the topic away from the parents that all of the elder siblings knew Lucy missed the most. Susan nodded.

"Yes. The year they gathered the dark objects – she called them _Horcruxes_ – was spent on the run, because the dark wizard wanted her and her friends dead. Those objects were created by killing someone, effectively ripping apart his soul and enabling the killer to hide the ripped-off piece in an object. If another wizard of witch found the object and knew how to, he or she would have been able to resurrect the dark wizard. Therefore they had to destroy them."

"It was dark magic, wasn't it?" Edmund asked and Susan nodded – for her, it explained what Aslan had told them just a few days ago, about Hermione's darkness. She was sure that, would Hermione have held on to the light inside of her while getting rid of the _Horcruxes_ she would have despaired, perhaps even turned mad.

"And the battle?" Peter asked, drawing her attention to him, the fire-light shining off his blond locks – he was the only one who had inherited their father's looks, the bright eyes and the bright hair. The rest of them came after their mother in looks, dark hair, dark eyes.

"It lasted a day and a night and by the end of it, Hermione had killed, had battled. I cannot really imagine what a battle of wands looks like but I can also not imagine the after-effects to look any different than from a real battle."

Blood, death, stink and smoke, for Susan knew now that wizards and witches could light fire with their wands – it must have been as gruesome as any other fight.

"What about her – have found out anything about her?" Lucy asked, Susan smiled – leave it to her sister to find a way to alleviate a tense silence.

"She's from 1998." She said lightly.

"Impossible." Edmund scoffed.

Lucy and Susan shook their heads – the older spoke. "Not that much, Ed, if you think about it. After all, Narnia is a magical place, and time passes differently here. Remember the first time we spent years here and when we went back not a day has passed."

"Exactly what I mean.", her brother retorted. "We have been here for five years, only. Surely the time doesn't suddenly decide to slow."

Susan shrugged. "From what I understand magic, despite letting itself be controlled, can still be a fickle thing – Hermione said so, and she's the witch of the two of us, I believe her. Also… well, it's Aslan's magic, if he can control it, he can also bend it to his well. It doesn't surprise me that much."

Lucy nodded vigorously from where she sat. The older sister knew that the youngest Pevensie had taken a huge liking in the witch and Susan could not hold her to it, she understood. Hermione was a charismatic person, despite having her secrets, for she knew that the witch hadn't told her everything, and despite being… well a witch. She was a strong one, knew what she wanted, didn't sit still, she had a quick mind and made the right decisions instead of the easiest, and – but she would never say it out aloud – she could tell by the way Hermione had read Edmund, that she knew the feeling of not forgiving oneself. There were probably decisions she regretted, even though, in the end, they might have led her to the place she had to be. But for her failures, she couldn't pardon herself.

"I thought I might go tomorrow." Peter said silently. "I would like to see with my own eyes that she is not that much of a threat as the two of you claim."

Susan smiled secretly, knowing that if Peter agreed to let the witch stay, Edmund would soon follow.

"You know what is strange though," she said, as they went up, "despite the weather, she dresses in long-clothes."

"Yes," Lucy agreed, "I had the same thought yesterday. Even though she is sweating and I can tell she's warm, she doesn't even think about dressing in short sleeves or short trousers."

Susan smiled. "But her boots are of fine quality – I wouldn't mind having a pair of them."

* * *

Edmund didn't sleep that night.

He knew it was petty of him to direct so much ire at one person who, very obviously, had done nothing wrong except for being a witch – something that he, secretly, feared. But if what she had told his sisters was true, then she couldn't even blame her parentage for it, because she had been raised by people like them: magic-less.

His library, despite being huge, held no books on magic, no books on the history of people like her – safe for one: The _Malleus_ _Maleficarum_ also known as The Hexenhammer.

But, he had to concede, it was gravely biased, written by Heinrich Kramer, a clergy-man, to justify the witch hunt in the 15th century. Split up in three sections, it declared the existence of the devil as true and witches as the henchwomen of said demon. From then on it explained in a strict tone how to discover a witch, convict them and how to effectively get rid of them. It was not a pretty book – it was a really disturbing book and, having read it out of curiosity and its age, he doubted that it would really help him with the witch at hand.

Yes, his sisters trusted her and yes, Aslan had declared her as a Good Witch but Great Gods, how could he trust her? How did he know she would not betray them – betray _him_ – like the White Witch had? How could he be certain that one day she would not turn around and just… get rid of them once and for all to claim leadership of Narnia and sink it into a period of terror?

He loved his country. He loved this… everything!

Having come so close to destroying it once, he did not want to fall for a trick ever again – he did not want to succumb to her charms, he did not want to be tangled in her net that could be constructed of nothing but lies.

But what was he to do?


	6. Chapter 6

The day was hot – scorching even, and Peter, for a minute, had a thought of _not_ going to the witch. Heavens above but how could she even move in this heat?

From his window, he had a clear sight of the Glacis around the castle, and he had seen her up and about ever since he had stood there. She would go and vanish in the wood, return, place a stone to the ever growing pile next to another pile, return to the wood and come again with a stone.

He knew that there was a river behind the small line of trees, hardly enough to call it a wood, he could see the silver band glinting in the sun from where it emerged from the small tree-line again and ever since he watched, the witch had been as busy as an ant.

Peter did not doubt that she had risen with the sun – or at least the first crowing of the cock from the nearest farm. But he had not seen her eat, had not seen her rest, ever since he looked. A knock at his door tore him out of his musings and his gaze away from the window.

"Enter." He said, allowing his squire into his quarters.

The young Telmarine, about Lucy's age, but probably younger, entered with a smile on his face – as always: "Good morning, your majesty." He greeted, perfecting it with a studied bow, before he straightened. "Word has made it around the servants that you wish to join the witch in her efforts to collect the stones for her hut."

He smiled. How the staff of the castle always knew everything was a mystery to him, but then – this was the way of the court-life, nothing ever stayed secret within these walls, or only very rarely. Peter's eyes turned towards the sky.

"It is my wish, although I have just taken a look at the sky and despite it being morning, the sun is already scorching."

The Telmarine, Annon, smiled, walking towards his wardrobe and picking out a lightly-woven shirt and trousers, holding them out. "Then might I suggest you dress lightly and take care of your skin? We Telmarines are largely used to the heat, and I can only thank the sun for making it such a nice day, but I understand your majesty is fair-skinned and it would be a shame if your skin was burnt."

Peter gratefully touched his hand to the shoulders of the boy. "Thank you, Annon, for your thoughtfulness – I think it is a wonderful idea."

The boy nodded, gesturing to a basin that another squire had brought in while they were busy discussing Peter's wardrobe. "Shall I take my leave while you wash, your majesty? I will be just outside the room if you wish to call upon me."

Nodding, he let the boy take his leave and close the door. The washing in these perimeters had taken some getting used to, for even in 1945 they'd had a plumbing system and therefore running water – but such luxury did not exist in Narnia. Still, as he stepped into the washtub, equally provided by his squires, to catch the water that he would rinse himself with, he thought that they had adjusted rather nicely.

Edmund had, at first, suggested to clear a room in order to make it a bathroom, but they had soon realized that the idea in itself was rather alien to the people of Narnia – at a later time then, they had decided and had thusly familiarized themselves with the ways of their nation. His brother had, nevertheless, insisted that instead of spilling the water everywhere, they would use washtubs – less work for their staff, and the water could be used for… well for the earth closet… because, yes, no running water meant very primitive ways of living.

Finished with his washing, he proceeded to dress, preferring to do it mostly on his own, since having servants – little matter how happy they were in the castle and in their servitude – was still a very, very strange concept that he couldn't whole-heartedly embrace. It was only the really fancy garments that had strings to bind in strange places that he needed help with, fully dressed, he allowed his squire to accompany him to the Dining Hall, where breakfast was served.

Edmund was already there, bent over a book, shovelling porridge into his mouth, chewing absent-mindedly. Peter took his seat next to Lucy.

"What's it today?", he asked silently.

His sister smiled wryly. "Agriculture. The Lord of Tonheim has complained about the crops this year what with the heat. Our _Just_ has sat down and now tries to study all forms of agriculture in order to find the adequate form for Tonheim."

It was as it was every day then, Peter concluded as he dug into his eggs and bacon.

* * *

Hermione had wondered who would come down to meet her today and was not very surprised when a blonde made his way down the road, Aslan at his side. The lion looked as if he had had a bloody meal and without a thought Hermione whipped out her wand, vanishing the remnants with a flick of it.

"Ah, thank you, Hermione – it is ever so unpleasant to be dirtied thusly." He gracefully said, lying down next to the pile of stones.

"Think nothing of it. Whenever I prance around and have a meal it's hellishly difficult to get it from my skin afterwards as well."

"Hmmm…" the lion hummed, ignoring Peter for the moment. "Master your animagus form then, have you?"

It was easy and hard at the same time to forget that the Great Golden Lion Aslan had been the founder Godric Gryffindor. She could not, for the life of her, say that she had _known_ Godric at all, but she had always pegged him to be somewhat hot-headed, the calm strength radiating off this form though was nothing like the man that had been described in the books.

"Before we went on the run, yes."

"What is an… animagus?" Peter asked, curious.

Hermione looked at him – he was as curious as his siblings were. "A witch or a wizard with advanced knowledge of transfiguration can tackle his or her animagus form. That means that they can transform into an animal, hence the 'anima'-part in the word that crosses adequately with 'magus' indicating the magician's part."

Peter's eyes grew wide. "And you can do that?"

Hermione nodded, retreating when she saw that Aslan had put his head to the ground, quickly dozing off on his full stomach – she knew she had work to do. "Yes, I learned it before the year on the Horcrux hunt."

The High King was clever enough not to ask how she assumed that he knew of the year lived in a tent under constant pressure. Quietly he followed her to the river, where she stepped into the river-bed, choosing a stone – he took it from her, still silent and shrugged when she sent him a look.

"I might as well make myself useful." She searched for another stone before joining him at the river-bank, walking back to her campsite, where soon she would be able to build her hut.

As she placed her stone down, Peter as well lowered it gently with the rest of the stones before he turned to her. "Could you… could you show me?", he asked carefully and Hermione guessed that it took some trust for him to _ask_ for a magical demonstration. Carefully straightening her back, she concentrated and before his eyes _shifted. _

She knew what she was, and had, at first, not truly known what to do with it – she had pegged herself to be more of a passive animal, not a _hunter_ and definitely not an _airborne_ hunter when she knew how much respect she had of brooms and any creature flying. But then… there it was.

Carefully adjusting her wings, she preened under the awed gaze of the King. It had been some time since she had last felt this foreign form. Well, not so foreign anymore, but still not completely her. Hopping a few steps, she flapped her wings, grateful for the hot breeze that sifted around her, the thermodynamics carrying her up in no time. From the air, she could see everything – the mice in the field, that she knew not to attack, the people bustling in the village of Cair Paravel, setting up the Fair that was to be held in a few days; gently she spread her wings, welcoming the breeze that lifted her before she decided that she had fooled around enough and gracefully circled down to the earth, transforming into her human form before she even touched ground.

Peter was staring at her with huge eyes and she had to suppress a proud smile – she had not been registered back in Wizarding Britain and having fled so early after the war also had never had the chance to do so.

As they continued gathering stones, Peter asked her about _home_ – such a strange word to use when they lived at the castle now and about the changes in the world since then. Ever the one to be versed in history, Hermione gave him a quick run-down of all the things that had happened since then, quietly surmising that if Peter helped her the whole day, she would truly be able to start building by tomorrow – the three siblings had halved her work by carrying almost as many stones as she had, it was a good feeling.

"Hermione… may I call you that?", he asked carefully – she nodded her assent. "Can… can you tell me what makes a… a good witch and a bad one?"

That question, she surmised, had been by far the most intelligent one, seeing as they were still not sure whether to trust her or not. Walking back to the river, she launched into her explanation seamlessly.

"Well… it's all in the intent, really." She said, side-stepping a root. "Those that choose darkness… have an ill intent or maybe they are careless enough to think that they may master the darkness." The witch shook her head. "But there is something, a phenomenon that is called _The lure_ or also _L'attraction_. It is… you can describe it like poison almost. Once you have tasted enough darkness, it calls to you – you have to enact it on a regular basis if you fall victim to _The lure_ or you will go mad. The thing is… if you succumb to _The lure_ you will too fall victim to madness sooner or later, illusions of grandeur that might bring you down one way or the other."

"But then… how… how were you able to destroy the dark objects? The Horcruxes?"

Ah, clever question. She allowed a rueful smile to flitter over her face, showing him only a fraction of it, before she tilted her head forth, hiding behind the mass of her curls.

"We split up, the three of us. No one destroyed all the Horcruxes alone – although… there were six of them. I was… lucky, I suppose to only have been tasked with the destruction of one. My friend, the one in the prophecy" – she never gave them names, names had power – "he destroyed one when he was twelve, and then one on the run. Another dark object was destroyed by our friend who was with us. Then one destroyed by a fellow-warrior and one… one was a surprise." She recounted, stepping into the river-bed.

"My friend in the prophecy he… he was an accidentally made Horcrux. See, the dark wizard, he tried to kill him when he was barely a year old, but survived it – people say it was due to the love of his mother. Whatever it was, it destroyed the dark man but left a piece of his soul within my friend. So when that wizard killed my friend, hoping to win, all he killed was his own last piece of soul and my friend came back."

Peter's eyes were round. "He defied death?"

She almost chuckled – in some ways the High King reminded her of Ronald, safe for the fact that until now he had yet to show bastardly behaviour towards her… and was likely to be more gallant than Ronald Weasley could ever aspire to be.

"In a way. Though I think Death rather allowed him to go, since he had in his possession almost a whole soul already, a soul so deliciously dark that Death did not mind letting another soul go – sooner or later he'd reap it nevertheless."

His silence did not disturb her then. She knew that with her talk of Death she may have irritated him somewhat, but having come close to it so often already, she knew that whatever waited for her, it had patience and it didn't mind waiting for her. She had adopted that particular philosophy after she'd read the Tale of the Three Brothers a few times, and having brushed with the vain phenomenon on a few occasions. But she was still alive.

By noon the King found another question, easily filling the rest of the afternoon with more questions and more answers and when, by dusk they set down the last pair of stones, they finally returned to silence. Hermione observed the large pile of stones next to her make-shift huddle and nodded contently – this would be enough, tomorrow she would start building. Turning to Peter, who was about to go, she stretched out her hand for him to take it – he did without hesitation.

"Thank you for your help, your majesty. You and our siblings have shortened my time of collecting the stones. By tomorrow I will be able to start building."

Peter only smiled at her, squeezing her hand in acknowledgment.

* * *

Edmund, he could tell, was _not_ happy.

Whether it was truly about the witch or because he simply had no idea what to do – because by unspoken agreement the siblings had decided that one of them would descend at one day at least – but he was not very content with the situation. Also seeing as he took his post as _the Just_ and General very serious, he usually drowned himself head-deep in work, contrary to his siblings who, while still coming after their duties, knew to take a day or two off now and then.

Peter though was too ecstatic about his discoveries to not share them with his siblings – after all, how often was it that you encountered a witch who was able to transform herself into an animal. And a regal-looking one like a falcon at that, and what a sight she had been, spiralling up into the skies before winding down onto the earth, where she had landed with soft, graceful steps, reminiscent of her beauty in the sky.

Lucy and Susan had drunk his story in with gleaming eyes, curious as was he, Edmund had decided to sulk.

And then he'd told them what he knew from the Great Britain that was today, from the strange things like mobile phones and Internet – yet in development it seemed – and the Cold War. To him it was all too amazing to simply let it scurry by.

And he knew that even Edmund enjoyed the picture painted of the modern people in their home country. And so, he defected speaking of the witch and instead dived head-first into a discussion about how the people might look, what the music was like, what politics were like. It was a good note to end the evening on.

* * *

**I'm sorry for the long wait, especially since it seemed to hit off so well with some of you. I promised a quick follow-up and then jack happened - so a second chapter for an excuse.  
**

**Review please (still)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Because I haven't updated as I was supposed to, I'll do it the way I'm not supposed to - four at a time, if the World Wide Web is with me. **

* * *

Hermione was not surprised when Edmund did not join her for the next day – Aslan did instead, sitting down and observing her as she transformed a branch into a large bucket, filling it with earth and clay from the river. The lion tilted his head as she added water and started to mix it just right, filling the holes of the stones before she sat them atop each other.

"Why do you this… the muggle way?", he asked. "I assume you are knowledgeable of how to build a house the wizard way."

Around him she had little qualms dropping her mask – Godric was one of her own, he did not fear her, nor did her question her. He welcomed and accepted her the way she was, and around him she could show herself, her light as well as her darkness. He was strong enough to take it all in and not be driven away from her – she smiled openly.

"Aslan, in a land where witchcraft is looked down upon in disdain? I wish to be accepted here, not burnt at the stake."

The lion winced. "No mentions of the stake, if you please – I'll have nightmares from that one."

She shot him an apologizing glance, knowing how just mere words could trigger a whole reaction, but did not say a word on it. He ignored her faux-pas and settled down on his front paws as well, still regarding her.

"How do you come to know these techniques anyway? Did you wish to become a builder?"

Hermione smiled again. "We called that an architect in our time." She said softly. "But no… I didn't, not consciously. But I read a few books on construction and architecture, the muggle and the magical kind and once the walls are built and the roof is on, I will strengthen the house with a few charms and wards."

The lion nodded, continuing to watch her. It was gruelling work and tiring to the bone, but it paid off. The playing children had stopped making a large bow around her, instead, integrating her in their games of what she supposed was their equivalent of Indians, the American kind. She did not know what their game was called, but she knew that, once children started to trust in you, so would their parents sooner or later. Children, no matter the cult or nation, were sacred.

Luna had once told her of a credo from the Lakota: Everything comes from the woman and we praise what therefore is given to us from Mother Earth, praying that we shall live in harmony with her children, for children are sacred and no harm should be done to them. Other folks might not know about the credo, but Hermione found it to be true most of the time.

As the sun burnt down on her, she cursed her long-sleeved garments, but in the light of showing her scars – she figured this would be the better alternative. Slowly she built the Eastern wall first, going by the glare of the sun. Glad for shielding charms, she renewed hers now and then, hoping to reduce the risk of a heatstroke – until now she had been able to.

Days without a proper meal had made her sluggish though and she could hear her stomach growl now and then, ignoring it most of the time and stilling her hunger with herbs she had found in the small sliver of wood behind her growing hut. By noon she had finished the Eastern wall to a satisfactory height, two heads above her – she'd needed to stand atop a quietly conjured stool, cursing the fact that she still had to work above her head, actively using muscles she hadn't in a long time.

Evening out the wall, she took a step back, taking a look around it. Aslan hummed astounded. "For someone who has only _read_ about construction I say your wall looks surprisingly sturdy, and straight."

Hermione managed a small smile. "I might have charmed myself to be able to build a straight wall instead of a crooked one – I might be a witch, but I don't need to make an impression by building a crooked witch's hut as well."

The lion snorted affectionately, but said nothing and so, enthusiastic about her success, the witch started with the Southern wall, facing the forest.

* * *

By evening Hermione was tired as she could possibly ever be. Her rumbling stomach was not even given attention anymore, and neither was the hunger positively gnawing at her, herbs or no herbs – she hadn't had _meat_ in several months. Nevertheless she slipped into her small, stony huddle, cast a few wards and promptly fell asleep.

Godric, from his venture point, watched in silence.

The Southern wall had been completed, straight and sturdy as the Eastern wall, connected by what he would call a masterfully crafted corner – Hermione, while untrained in the practical appliance, seemed to have read a lot of books on construction, and, true Gryffindor, didn't back down from a good challenge.

Rising on silent feet, he neared the construction. The smell of clay clung pleasantly to the stones which all hummed contently, assembled in a wall – he smiled: the witch knew more than she let on, for even Helga had had to be taught that only willing stones would make a sturdy castle.

He looked at the curly-hair at the entrance of the stony-huddle that Hermione had claimed as her resting place. She was a strong witch that one, and a strong person – convinced of her opinions, but flexible enough to allow new opinions to claim their place. She was a hard worker, ready to settle in and blend with the environments around her, even if it meant slave away in the scorching heat of the sun.

She was right, of course, when she had said that building her hut the 'muggle' way would allow for acceptance better than simply collecting the stones and erecting it from one day to the other with a few swishes of her wand. The village was aware of the witch – word travelled quickly – and until now had left her largely in peace, the children, naturally, were curious about her and hence didn't precisely heed their parents' orders but had made enormous bows around her, not completely trusting. But their bows and circles grew smaller, less anxious, more curious. It was a good, if slow, development.

* * *

**And, honestly? THANK YOU FOR ALL THE ENCOURAGING REVIEWS! I LOVE YOU!  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**As I said, as long as the WWW is with me, four chaps this time... cross your fingers!**

* * *

Lucy was not sure if she was angry with her brother.

Really, she could not blame him for not trusting a witch – the same being that had betrayed him when he had been but a young boy, so easy to manipulate with promises of a devoted country and greatness. She knew _men_ who would have been fooled by the White Witch, a boy had not been a target to speak of at all.

But Hermione was different – she knew it.

Dressing in an old skirt and an equally old blouse, she readied herself for the day. Word had that Hermione had finished two of four walls to her hut already – on _one_ day! The rapidity struck many citizens as strange, but then… not too strange. Cornah, the local carpenter and general constructor had been known to build a burrow in one day only and Lucy admired the witch greatly for going out of her way and doing things manually, the _hard_ way she was sure, since there certainly existed spells and charms for constructing and building – after all, how else should Aslan have been able to build a whole castle with only three more people in his former life?

Still the witch had simply forgone all her wand-work and had instead shown the inhabitants of Cair Paravel that she was as normal as everyone else, that even she had to build her home by hand – even if she did not _have_ to, but the Pevensie agreed that it was the best tactic in order to be accepted.

Edmund and Peter, she knew, were in for another day of meeting the Lords and discussing the current situation of Narnia and Grosheim – but Lucy had been sent to negotiate with the Narnians the whole rest of the week and had assembled quite a number of them under their banner already, some of them already in Cair Paravel, while a large number was still arriving.

Caspian and Susan had been in negotiations with the Telmarines for some time now, as well as the Folk of the Isles, which had – surprisingly – agreed to support them. A ship would arrive in a few weeks time apparently, hopefully soon enough.

As she allowed Ralira, a cousin of Reepicheep, to twist her hair into a knot – the field mouse had clever hands – she looked forward to meeting Hermione again.

The last days had been full of work and of letter writing, sometimes negotiating, welcoming and entertaining guests – it should not be so exhausting the way it sounded, but it _was_ and therefore the youngest queen looked forward to a day beneath the sun, smudging her hands with clay and earth, helping the witch to build her hut.

Aslan was already waiting for her at the breakfast table and she affectionately rubbed him behind the ears in greeting, a gesture that he whole-heartedly welcomed, judged by the deep, contented rumble in his chest.

As she ate from her plate, it occurred to her, for the first time, that Hermione had little way of getting something to eat. Sure there were normal animals to hunt for in the woods a little farther from her, and the herbs and wild sweet grasses could be used as ingredients for something to eat as well, but Lucy knew from reports of her staff – they had their eyes everywhere it seemed – that Hermione had only ever left her campsite to fetch stones, which meant she returned almost in the blink of an eye… and she couldn't have eaten a lot.

As she stood, having finished her breakfast, she gathered a large tissue, piling grapes, apples, carrots, bread and a few strawberries. She could tell that Edmund's eyes were on her, slyly observing her over the rim of his book on agriculture, almost finished. She knew that he probably already _had_ a solution for the Lord's problem, but Edmund never ended things halfway – he did or he didn't. And if he started reading a book, he also finished it – period.

Aslan, however, observed her with silent agreement, trotting down the winding way of the castle next to her. The village around Cair Paravel was just waking up, the baker's hut smelling wonderfully of the freshly made loafs and sweets, the smith was working on his fire, and several peasants were setting up their stands in the market place – it was a usual day at the village, hot, perhaps, but usual.

* * *

She was no ordinary witch.

Ordinary witches didn't walk through woods and ended up in another world entirely.

Ordinary witches also didn't fight wars at the age of eighteen (or rather twenty, time-turner considered).

Ordinary witches also didn't get a feeling for approaching people.

Hermione knew though, without fault even before she saw them that Aslan was nearing her – his magical signature could be felt over miles, she supposed, and, at his side, was the youngest of the royalties – Lucy.

She had a gentle air around her, and Luna would probably have sighed and have told her what a magnificent Aura she had. Hermione huffed a chuckle; perhaps it was their Aura that she felt, because while it was decidedly a magical signature where Aslan was concerned, the same would not apply to Lucy.

The Western wall of her hut was going slow today, which was why she had started early – the constant hunger and the left-over weariness from the day before were wearing her down and her constant working was slowly taking its toll. She knew that, as soon as the hut was finished, she would have to set out and hunt for something, some meat, would be nice, gather some fruits and a few herbs.

As Lucy neared her, Hermione watched with great interest as the youngest queen held out a bundle and smiled. "Good morning, Hermione, would you mind pausing your work and having breakfast with me?"

Breakfast? She set down her hands, watching as the girl sat down in the grass, opening the bundle – Hermione's mouth watered at the sight of fruits and bread, her stomach rumbled agreeingly and she blushed, holding a hand to it, before she looked up at the smiling queen.

"I realized today that with building your hut, you haven't really had the time to go find food – so while I sat and had my lavish breakfast, the idea came to me that I should take something with me for you. Would you accept my offer?"

Her growling stomach didn't leave her much of a choice anyway, but Hermione nodded, banishing the dirt from her hands and arms, as she settled down in front of the queen, grabbing a piece of bread.

A moan slipped from her as she sunk her teeth into the soft texture, relishing in the grains of corn and… were those nuts. She opened her eyes when she heard a soft giggle, realizing only now that she had closed them – again she blushed. Lucy bent forth.

"I apologize for not thinking on it any sooner." She said softly. "You will be important to us and I despise acting like a thoughtless fool. Will you accept my apology?"

Swallowing, Hermione stared. "Your majesty, quite honestly, this is more than I deserve – your apology is not necessary at all, as far as I am concerned."

Her words seemed to ease the tension in the queens' shoulders and Hermione gladly devoured her breakfast, leaving a bit of the bread and the grapes for a light snack during lunch. Lucy noticed and nodded in understanding as she stood. "So, how do you build a wall?" the girl asked and Hermione, waving her wand secretly, gladly taught her to, very simply, put one stone atop another, after applying a generous amount of clay to fill the in-betweens.

The whole morning they spent constructing the Western Wall for which Hermione had already laid the ground construction on which they could build the rest of the wall and when it grew noon, they started on the last few inches. Hermione, in order to help Lucy, had to conjure a ladder for the queen, who then happily applied herself on the upper part of the wall, evening it out and finishing the corner. She could tell that Lucy had a lot of fun playing around with the clay and tucking the stones atop each other.

Under the watchful eyes of Aslan, Hermione allowed herself to cast another Charm on Lucy, preventing a sun-stroke – for it was hot, very much so and it just wouldn't do to send the youngest queen back only for her to fall ill, especially not now, so shortly before a war.

By noon the western wall was finished, a feat of which the two young women were strongly proud, settling down to have a little lunch, basking in the sun-light. Lucy was a very jovial young woman, despite having seen two wars, she was still the youth she was supposed to be – a very strong young woman, Hermione decided then.

"You know, Hermione," Lucy said, chewing on a bit of white bread, "I think that… if you were to… well you know… fight for us, I think that… perhaps we should… train with you. Do you know how to ride?"

Hermione smiled openly at the thoughtfulness the young queen showed her. "Yes, your majesty. I was a little girl once, convinced that horses were the descendants of unicorns and had, due to evolution, lost their horns."

The young girl giggled, Aslan snorted – the atmosphere was light, Hermione could allow herself a little freedom, especially where Lucy was concerned, she was least likely to let her down quickly. Surely if she had been there instead of Harry or Ron, she would have allowed Hermione to go where she wanted to. Lucy was like that.

"And… umm… how about… sword-fighting?", she asked.

"Are we playing twenty-questions?" Hermione retorted, chewing carefully on a mouthful of bread and Lucy nodded. "Then, your majesty, you should play by the rules and allow me to ask twenty questions in return."

Lucy nodded almost instantly, apparently not keen on being seen as someone who bent the rules to her own advantage – a valuable asset to have in a queen. "Well then, first, yes I know how to fight with a sword – Godric Gryffindor had one, and wand fighting is not so dissimilar as sword-fighting is. A friend of mine was a fencer and took his time with me. Now your majesty, you owe me two questions."

Lucy, taking a bite of her bread, kicking her legs, waited for the questions – Hermione thought it adorable, a bit child-like, but lovely. "What is your favourite colour?"

For a second the queen looked a little perplexed and Hermione had to admit that, for a first question, it wasn't her strongest one, but if the mutterings of the villagers were to be believed then the youngest queen was to celebrate her seventeenth birthday soon and since that particular age was _the_ age in the wizarding world, Hermione wanted to make an effort – she wanted to give her a nice present and she wanted it to be perfect.

"Um… russet." She admitted, then. "Like Cora is, Susan's horse."

Ah, yes – Hermione smiled knowingly. "Then… hm… do you have a favourite music? A band perhaps? Or a composer?"

"Oh, I have always liked Shostakovich's Waltz No. 2. I know it's so unbelievably… Russian, but it is also so lovely."

Hermione had to agree there – Shostakovich was an excellent choice, she told the young queen so and was delighted when Lucy babbled on about the composer, talking about music that Hermione hadn't even known of. But Lucy had an excellent memory of the melodies and therefore spent the rest of the day humming them as they worked on the Northern wall, building a broad arch, where the door would be.

Architectonically it was a bit of a challenge, but if the Romans had been able to manage it without magic, Hermione had said, then how could she possibly not manage. Lucy laughed at her reasoning, as well at Hermione's cussing – her whole repertoire was a single ode to Ron – but looked equally glad when they managed it. However, as they started on the last wall, Lucy pointed out something rather crucial.

Hermione had not a single window. Which was… well, quite honestly it was not acceptable. And so they left an adequate, quadratic hole to the right of the door, meaning to fill it with a window soon.

By dusk they stood within a finished rectangle of equally high, equally sturdy and straight walls – the roof yet to be constructed.

"How will you do the roof?" Lucy asked her, hiding a yawn behind her hand. Hermione, her arm slung around the shoulders of the smaller girl, looking down and smiling.

"I will probably have to fell a tree or two for that. Though I hope it will only have to be one, and probably with a lot of knots… and well, straw and clay, and straw… and bark perhaps. Maybe I can even fashion tiles – who knows."

But Lucy, exhausted from the hard work, had practically fallen asleep – surprising Hermione. Aslan looked at her with a gentle smile.

"She was a lot of help today, wasn't she?" he asked fondly, standing in the door. Hermione smiled.

"Yes, for someone so small and so young she is an extraordinary person." Carefully Hermione shifted, turning to lean Lucy against her as she bent, gathering her in her arms and carrying her out of the house, Aslan at her side.

"You know… Lucy was somewhat right when she said that perhaps you should train a little with her siblings. Susan is an excellent shot and while Edmund will probably desist from training any kind of swordsmanship with you, Caspian and Peter are both very skilled – I am sure they would not mind."

Hermione pulled a face – but agreed. "It is probably for the best. Once I have finished my house, which should – if I have any say in it, be tomorrow or the day after, I have all the time in the world, Aslan, to prepare for this war. I admit that I am… well… in a way I am anxious about this war. I have only just come here and… well I would like to stay here, but if this war goes wrong…"

Aslan shook his head. "Nonsense, Hermione. You are here, with us. You are the assurance that this will go the way we need it to – hopefully."

The rest of their walk to Cair Paravel was spent in silence. Lucy, in her arms snuggled closer to her, seeking her warmth and Hermione smiled softly, pressing her lips to the forehead of the young Pevensie. She sighed then, displeased with herself. This was not a good idea – she could not attach herself to any of them, one of them might not survive, hell she might not survive, it was just the way war was. And she wouldn't want to hurt any of them.

Then again, she also didn't want to be lonely while she prepared for war – she _wanted_ to get to know them, she wanted to get close to them, prove them that witches could be good, prove that she could be good.

As they wound up the way to the castle, Hermione passed this or that servant on their way home from a day full of work – surprisingly enough, each of them greeted her with at least a nod. But after a moment of confusion, she deducted that what with Lucy in her arms and Aslan at her side, few dared to not at least be civil towards her.

The court was quiet as they entered it and Aslan, steadfast as ever, led her towards the Throne Room, where Hermione as well could feel a signature – Peter, she ventured, soon joined by Susan.

Probably they were asking themselves just where their sister was and Hermione immediately felt guilty for having worn out the queen so much – she should have known better, the young body wasn't used to a lot of manual labour and had still insisted to help Hermione. She bit her lower lip as she entered the candle-lit room. As she had suspected Peter and Susan stood in the middle of the room, worried looks on their faces.

"Your majesties." Hermione greeted softly, careful to disturb neither them nor the sleeping Lucy too much – a look of guilt flashed across her look when she recognized the relief flooding the two eldest siblings. "I am very sorry but the queen exhausted herself when helping me construct the last two walls."

Susan smiled at her. "You are done with the walls then – that is good to hear." Seamlessly she gathered Lucy in her arms, looking at Hermione with gentleness. "Do not worry yourself too much about Lucy. She can be very headstrong, I said it once already. Whether or not you would have allowed it, she would have helped you until she wasn't able to anymore. We are not angry with you."

Aslan, at her side, butted his nose against her hand in reassurance and Hermione's thoughts of angered monarchs flew out of the window – she knew how easily it would have been for them to jump from worry to fury. It was a very short leap in all earnest.

* * *

**Yaaaayy! I'm making it!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Yes! Getting closer!**

* * *

Edmund had heard of his squire that the witch had managed to build her hut in two days only, or at least construct the walls, and, allegedly, would attack the roof today. He had been curious to find out that instead of waving her wand a few times, the witch had set down to build her hut with her bare hands.

She was… different, that much was sure. What he didn't know yet was if it was a good kind of different or not.

If she had had a plan of invading the castle then she would have demanded to stay inside the walls the moment they had asked her for compensation – but she hadn't and it was unlikely that she would now. And if she would have wanted to harm them, then she would have had several chances as well already, but she hadn't.

What was her plan for heaven's sake?

Edmund was convinced that she had a plan – after all, everyone had a plan. Especially someone like Hermione, he was assured, had a plan, she appeared too clever to be planless. But still he could not fathom what her plan included, whom it included.

And, as much as he disliked admitting it, until he would get close to her, he would also never find out. After all: keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. Thusly he resolved to go and meet her the next day that would be _his_.

* * *

Susan had decided to take Lucy as an example and gathered a bit of their lavish breakfast in a tissue, before she descended to the village and made her way to the witch, Aslan at her side.

Hermione, despite the early hour, was already working with an admirable focus and concentration – two trees had been felled in the early light of morning and Hermione had manoeuvred them out of the slight wood to place them next to her house, where she had started sawing them.

For several moments Susan simply stood next to the working witch and mused how similar she and Edmund really were – once they worked, they worked, giving it all of their attention. Few things stopped them, but to Susan's advantage, food was one of those things.

Waiting until she had withdrawn the saw and put it to the ground so as not to risk her injuring herself accidentally, she greeted the younger woman. "Good morning, Hermione."

"Your majesty!" Hermione exclaimed, swirling around, noticing her only now. "I am sorry I did not see you there!"

Susan waved her hand. "Don't bother, Hermione. And what have I told you about my titles." She sat down unfolding the tissue. "Would you join me for breakfast? Lucy has made a valid point yesterday."

Her youngest sister was, as often, very observant and had, indeed, made a very valid, if quiet point. As Hermione neared her, charming off the dirt, she mumbled a low: "You are spoiling me." Susan only smiled.

"Well if we are, just accept it and enjoy." She said softly, smiling when the witch relished in the few crumbs she had brought her along – seriously, compared to their breakfast it was nothing, and still the witch acted as if it was the fullest of banquets. Susan felt the guilt start in on her.

Here was Hermione, the one person that Aslan had declared as detrimental to the war, and they weren't even able to feed her properly – thrice a day. All she got were scant left-overs from their breakfast table… and that after a year on the Horcrux hunt where food had been scarce to begin with.

She felt like a cad.

"You know,", Hermione said, swallowing, "when I was in school still, we would get the richest of buffets for every meal – no matter what you wished for, it was there. Every day – I never realized how thankful I was until we were on the hunt." She bit into an apple, chewing carefully, before she swallowed. "It is very nice of you to bring me something – you don't have to, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness a lot."

Said with so much sincerity Susan could barely stop herself from berating her own – after all, day after day she sat at a high table filled to the point of breaking with food, while people like Hermione hungered and were grateful for every crumb bestowed unto them.

Even as she watched the witch eat the few morsels she had brought along, she realized that Hermione left several things untouched – keeping them for lunch. For Susan it would not even have been a breakfast.

"Well,", Hermione stood. "If you would like to help me, I could show you how."

Filled to the brim with the wish to make it easier on the resident witch that, soon – meaning in a week and a day – would have been in Narnia for a month, she immediately got to work, following the instructions of the witch without a qualm, focusing on the second trunk, sawing where Hermione had marked for her.

* * *

Originally Hermione had thought about building a square made of wood within her stony home but had then soon conceded that this particular idea was absolutely non-sensical. If she would have wished for supporting columns of wood, she should have built the wooden structure first and _then_ gone about her way to add the stones and the walls.

Well, she couldn't always be perfect – even though she aimed for it, but this _was_ her first time building a hut, so a few mishaps could be excused. In the end, all she really wanted was for the thing to stand and keep her dry and warm, sheltered from the rages of the weather. She could tell by the sweltering heat in the air that it would not be long until a rain would set in – and before that she had to have her home finished and charmed to be more impervious to the climate than an ordinary hut.

Hermione's idea of a rooftop now consisted of four beams laid across the roof on the long sides of the hut, then fastening them with several, left-over stones and clay, before placing a long, single beam atop the four, securing it with knots and, once she had the money and the utensils, with nails. From there-on it would be a game of knots and calculation, four beams, forming a triangle with each lying beam and a long one atop of them – that would be the highest corner of her roof – she'd have to make sure to not make it too high. And then a few crossbeams to fill the holes and make it easier to dress the roof – if she had it her way, tomorrow her home would be finished.

Complete with chimney – which she had built the last night, when nightmares had haunted her and she had been too anxious about the weather and her roof-less house.

As Susan sawed away at the trunk, Hermione quickly cast a Sun-Shield around the queen – watching, unsurprised as she stilled for a second. Susan, after all, had been able to feel the humming of the stone. The queen turned to her, Hermione smiled, dangling her wand in her fingers.

"To make sure that a heat-stroke is out of question."

"Oh…", the older woman said, surprised. "Thank you."

From then on, the two of them worked single-mindedly. By noon they had effectively sawed and created all the beams they would need and settled for a lunch-picnic.

"You know," Susan said after a while, "Lucy mentioned the four walls today morning… but the fire-place?"

Hermione shrugged. "Couldn't sleep – had so many stones, and since I'll need it sooner or later, I decided to rather build it now than to have to integrate it later with magic. Which… is possible, but I think it's better this way."

* * *

And then, for the first time, a thought seemed to strike Susan. Carefully she took a bite of this mornings' bread, watching the curly-haired woman next to her.

"You could have had your house within a day, couldn't you? A few swishes of your wand and you wouldn't have needed to bother with fetching stones, making clay, building walls and a chimney and worrying about a roof."

Next to her, Hermione nodded – chewing carefully on the cheese. "Yes, I could have. But then, witches are regarded with animosity in these perimeters and your people would not have warmed up to me if I would just have erected the house from one moment to the other. It tends to make people jealous, wary… untrusting. And I understand it. After all, this is another realm… and if I wish to stay here, I have to adjust to the circumstances. It's… challenging." She smiled. "And I ever do love a challenge."

Susan, silently, mused on her words. It was a smart move, a rational move, but still it resulted in bone-hard work. And still, this woman who looked so little the warrior she made out to be, had spent no time in simply watching, observing and doing it 'the pack-way' so to speak.

Hermione had jumped into the cold water without hesitation and despite her foreign-ness knew how to swim. It was a very awe-inspiring thought that one.

* * *

The roof-construction was trickier than she had thought. By the time they had used up most of the stones to secure the four cross-beams that would be Hermione's foundation of her roof, the sun was already perilously close to the western-most point in the sky. Nevertheless the two women kept up their work, and were – thanks to Hermione's organisation – able to secure the eight beams forming the triangles and the single long beam – top of the roof – they fell contently down from their stations an hour after dusk.

The first stars had already come out, the moon hanging big and graceful over them.

"I had a friend once.", Hermione heard herself say. "Who was named Luna."

Susan, next to her in the high grass turned her head, first to her, then to the moon. "That's a nice name.", she said softly. "It's… graceful."

Hermione smiled in response. Yes, yes Luna had been a very graceful person – strange sometimes, yes, but graceful nevertheless. At the Yule ball there had always been lots of boys who wished to dance with the girl in the newspaper dress and the crown-cap necklace.

"Yes,", Hermione sighed softly, "she was."

* * *

As Susan made her way up to the castle, she pondered on the young witch, still lying in the meadow, watching the stars – or perhaps already fallen asleep. Aslan had decided to stay with her that night, so Susan guessed that she had quickly fallen asleep and the lion wished to guard her.

A lot of things were strange about the woman – and yet… endearing. The way she talked about her friends, for instance: yes, Susan knew of the two _important_ friends, with whom she had destroyed the black magician. But today, she had heard, for the first time, a name of a friend of Hermione – and it was a girl's name. Susan understood, as she contemplated, that the two _important_ friends had been more of an alliance than true friends, while the Luna girl had been, indeed a true friend.

Someone that Hermione missed, contrary to the other two.

Tiredly she stretched her arms above her head, entering the kitchen where she sat down. Her siblings had, thankfully already left for bed, it was time for them after all, but she couldn't help but sit down in front of the dying fire nevertheless, going over the day's events, stretching her muscles.

Hermione had, for all intents and purposes, never stopped working once. She had carried stones for three days, starting working on walls for two days and had, today, began to construct her roof. Yet the witch never looked as if her muscles were sore when Susan could tell that, by this time tomorrow, she would curse her inherent good nature and her willingness to help.

A movement to her left, obscuring the fire for the blink of an eye, tore her out of her musings, and as she looked up, she found Caspian standing next to her. He smiled at her, gently, carefully.

For two years now they had been dancing around each other – retreat, advance, retreat, advance – each complementing the contrary movement of the other, but never reaching a goal. It was exhilarating on one hand, but very frustrating on the other hand.

Speaking of hands…

She sighed as he started kneading her shoulders, tenderly working out the sore spots. Now and then she hissed when he hit an especially resilient spot, but he was a diligent masseur, making sure to work out all the kinks, never once speaking a word.

Kneaded into calm and softness, Susan noticed when she started to drift, but, despite her valiant efforts, could not stop her falling asleep.

* * *

Caspian smiled when the young woman beneath his hands breathed evenly – a sure sign that she had fallen asleep.

He knew that she had worked with the witch all day and had watched, now and then when he looked out of the window of the meeting room, as slowly the rough construction for a roof took its place upon the four walls of the witch's hut.

Edmund had been pouting the whole day, dissatisfied with his younger sister's excitement about Hermione and the hut, and even more displeased when Peter had relayed the witch's short presence at the castle the evening before to deliver a sleeping Lucy.

Caspian spent little thought on the witch.

To him the fuss about her was barely understandable. Of course the White Witch had left a dent in their trust considering witches, but then… people were always different, and witches too were only people. Additionally Hermione, despite having had the opportunity, had never once made what he would have called 'a wrong move'.

It was, of course, possible that Edmund's paranoia merited more credit than the rest of his siblings were ready to give him, but Caspian was not convinced.

His gut left him with a good feeling whenever his thoughts turned towards the witch and until now it had never let him down, so why should it now?

As Susan's head lolled on her arms, he carefully parted his hands from her shoulders, guiding them beneath her arms and her knees and, without effort – she was truly a light-weight – lifted her up. The castle was mostly asleep and the few servants still up were all too glad to help him find his way to the Queen's chambers – not that he didn't know where they were, but what kind of impression would he make if he knew _exactly_ where her rooms were? The whole castle would talk about it the next day.

Instead, he allowed a late guardian to escort him to the Queen's rooms and see him walk out of the room – whose door he had left open as he put Susan to bed – soon after he'd made sure the Queen was fine.

Smiling he eased through the corridors, thinking of her soft form against his – it was sure to make nice dreams that memory.

* * *

**I do so hope that you will like this ... :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**YES! The power of the WWW is with me tonnight! If you can read this then I succeeded :) (which I hope I did)**

**Last chap for tonight, have fun!**

* * *

Hermione awoke with the first cry of the cock on a nearby farm – as she had every day.

Carefully she lifted herself up from her resting place against the wall at the far end of the hut. Rubbing her eyes she felt that today would be a cooler day – probably in preparation of the rain she was sure was to come the day after tomorrow.

As she stood, she made a mental list of things to do that day. Number One: secure the cross-beams. Number Two: a) think of one or several materials resilient to wind, snow, rain and heat, b) collect and c) cover her roof with it.

Satisfied with her to-do-list she left her hut, traversing the trees behind it to reach the river and wash her face.

Number Three, she thought as she washed the grime from the day before off her face: wash herself thoroughly.

Perhaps, if she got lucky, she would be able to do so in a freshly constructed home, with water warmed over her own fire in the new fire-place. That was a nice thought come to think of it. Smiling Hermione fished for her brush in her beaded purse, forcefully pulling it through her mane, though – in her opinion – with little effect, before she secured her locks in a leather band she had found.

Leaving the river-side, she returned to her almost-finished home, determined to see it through.

Conjuring a ladder, she grabbed a piece of slender rope and a cross beam and set to work.

* * *

When Edmund descended for breakfast, Susan and Lucy where already there – his older sister looking weary from what he supposed was manual work on the witch's hut. Lucy, on the other hand, had already recovered from her apparent depletion the night before and was giddily listening to her sister's recount of yesterday's events.

Peter joined them shortly after him, listening in and joining the conversation. "So… today she'll finish the roof?", his brother asked.

He could tell by the way he was dressed that his brother would join the witch that day and for a second, Edmund asked himself if that would – theoretically – relieve him of the duty of going to see the witch but then decided that if he truly wanted to know her ulterior motives, he would, still, have to go and meet her.

"M-hm." Susan agreed, chewing on her bread.

"But you will probably only have to help her covering it." Lucy threw in. "When I looked out of my window that morning, she was already climbing about and, I guess, securing the cross-beams. Considering the tempo she works in, I'd say she'll be finished with them when you arrive."

His brother looked pensive for a few moments, before he shrugged. "That's alright, I suppose – I can't honestly say that I've covered a roof before, but it will be interesting enough."

Edmund covertly shook his head. Peter had always been more of a do-first-ask-questions-later-type. It did not always come in handy – especially when it concerned delicate things, like the covering of a roof. Then again, the witch had handled herself admirably – even he had to admit – and it was unlikely that all of her efforts would go to hell on the last day.

After all, Peter was also good at listening to direct and clear commands, and it seemed that the witch was somewhat talented at giving them. As his brother finished breakfast, he watched him collecting a few crumbs – as he had seen his sisters doing the days before – to bring to the witch.

He knew that it was but good grace, but couldn't help his iron decision to _not_ do the same thing for her when he would go meet her the next day.

* * *

She had decided to go with branches and high-grass, which she had all around her. Tiles would have needed fire at a high temperature and for that Hermione would have needed to openly enact witchcraft – she liked waving her wand around in the secrecy of her four walls, but outside… well that was another thing entirely.

The villagers had just started to stop whispering about her when they came from a hunt or from fetching wood nearby and she did not want to give them a reason to start again. Therefore, she had decided that a few branches from the trees she had cut down the day before, between which she could weave the high grass, then, she would bind bushels of the grass together to bind them on the branches and on top of that meagre foliage of a roof, before she'd set stones atop of the bushels – and, of course, all charmed for security and long-livety.

It was a good-plan – if time-intensive, but since she already _had _the branches and the only real work would be the grass and the bushels, she decided to stop her never-ending thinking and simply start doing.

Not for the first time did she soon find herself so engrossed in her work of fastening the branches to her beams that she forgot all about the outside-world. It was only when she descended from her roof-construction, having finished tying the beams that she noticed the High King Peter standing outside of her hut. He smiled brightly.

"I would knock, Hermione, but unfortunately there is no door yet."

Carefully she returned the smile. "By the end of the day I would say there will be, your majesty. Good morning."

Peter shook his head, raising a bundle. "It's only been a good morning if you have eaten something." He replied, beckoning her closer with his right hand, while he settled down, the bundle in his left.

And so, Hermione started her day with breakfast in the presence of royalty.

* * *

Hermione, he decided, was brilliant.

Having spent half of the day mowing down hip-high grass, he had watched her, now and then, weaving it expertly through the branches she had fastened to her beams that morning. Her movements were deft, graceful and so assured – and it was, clearly, a very thought-through plan.

If he would have had to venture a guess then he'd have said that she'd read a few books on the topic, and may, perhaps, even have constructed a house once. Otherwise though, he put her neatly into the same category as Edmund: she was undoubtedly a genius.

Despite having never covered a roof, Peter did not stand around feeling like an idiot as he had feared he would, but was instead feeling quite helpful by borrowing a scythe from a neighbouring farm and cutting off the grass in a steady rhythm, content to let the tool sing. In all actuality, he enjoyed it even. The repeated movement of his body, the steady feeling of the scythe in his hands and the soft breeze joining the sun for that day allowed him to relax fully into his task of mowing and gathering the grass to bring it to Hermione.

Before noon she had woven enough grass between the branches, satisfied to sit down and start on the bushels of grass that he still brought. When the sun was at its peak for the day, they paused their working in favour if the shade of the trees, cool water to soothe their parched throats and bites from the breakfast that Hermione had purposefully set aside at morning.

Peter observed her as they talked, taking in her gestures, her face and her whole appearance that was slowly warming, slowly softening in their presence. He could tell that she was as passionate about Narnia as any of them were but was still rather solitary, safe for their visits during the day.

At noon, they fastened the bushels to the branches and cross-beams, weighing it down with several stones.

It did, surprisingly, not take too long until they were done with the roof. Contently the two of them took in the finished hut. And, once again, Peter had to admire the single-mindedness and brilliance of the woman next to him. Not a blade of grass was out of place, everything was where it should be.

"This,", he started, "is the single most amazing thing I have ever been part of." He smiled, turning towards the witch, reaching out a hand. "Thank you for letting me help you."

Hermione, smiling took his hand, squeezing it in return. "Thank you for helping me out, your majesty. I would never have been able to do this so quickly if it wouldn't have been for you and your siblings."

Which was true – but then, they were counting on her in the war that was about to come, a war that both sides were recruiting for. And she needed a place to live – in Peter's opinion it was only a little thing, especially since he had done only so much as help her gather stones and cut grass.

* * *

When Peter left her, Hermione set her first foot into her new home.

The sun from the sky shone softly a slight breeze wafting through her four walls. It was quaint, little but it was all that she needed. Breathing contently, she started towards the plank that she had made her door, now, within her new home, less conscious about using her wand.

A few taps to the stones and hinges appeared at the perfect height, a little waving here, a little waving there – and it was done. A good, solid door, warded against intruders. Waving her wand at the hole she had left for the window too, she sealed off any draughts, immediately noticing the coolness wash over her, and charmed it to fuzz up the perception of people who'd try to look through it.

Satisfied with herself, she then sat down in the middle of the room, in front of a large trunk that she had decided to become her table – it was the perfect height after all – and set her purse atop of it.

Time to empty it.

* * *

Edmund did not know what he expected when he descended from the castle that morning – Aslan at his side. The rain, as predicted, had settled in, but from the gates he could already see the smoke rising from the chimney of the hut just outside of the village.

Silently they made their way towards the Witch's Hut, Aslan carrying a bundle of breakfast in his mouth that Lucy and Susan had put together for the witch when he had made it clear that he would not do so. His sisters had been quite patient about it too – which was… strange, because they would, usually in a similar situation, start to get head-strong and opinionated, but instead they had forgone it and simply set to prepare a bundle, handing it to Aslan instead of him.

And Edmund wasn't about to throw it away – he simply did not want the witch to think that he was partial to her, all he wanted was to find out about her and her goals.

The closer he got to the hut, though, the more his – covert – appreciation of the witch augmented. She had done a very decent job about her new home. The walls were straight and high enough, the arch of her door, built to perfection. But he could see, as he stood in front of it, that still, she lacked a window to fill the hole designed for it.

Coming closer still, he knocked gently, waiting for her to let him in… as would anyone with manners.

* * *

**I made it! I do so hope that you guys like it and again I want to thank you for all the very encouraging reviews, they are so lovely (and please keep them coming, I love them). **


	11. Chapter 11

**Helloooooooo, people! **

**There have been a lot of comments lately on the story so thank you lovely lads all in advance for the tons and tons of encouragement! It feels good to have a story capture so many minds again.**

**And today, since I'm in a very, very good mood - how 'bout three chapters at once?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Aslan could tell that the moment Hermione opened the door, she was surprised to find Edmund at his side. Himself, yes that she could have dealt with, probably even expected it – but Edmund, the King who so clearly disdained her, well that was a surprise.

"Good morning, your majesty." She said humbly, opening the door. "Please enter."

Edmund, at his side, went ramrod straight, still not used to the presence of a witch, and entered stiffly, Aslan behind him, stopping next to Hermione to hand her the bundle over. "Susan and Lucy send their regards." He said softly – butting his head as greeting against her thigh before he shook himself, getting rid of the water.

Hermione, closing the door, stepped into the room. "Come on,", she said softly, "come closer to the fire you'll be a lot warmer."

Aslan did not need to be told twice – he may be a lion, but even lions were cats and as such, not often a great fan of water. Therefore, he trotted towards the fire roaring in the chimney, fuelled by left-over branches and pieces of the trunks Edmund a few steps behind him, inspecting the work of the witch.

She, on her part, had decided that treating the king with familiarity would be the best course of action – not giving him too much attention, or he would feel threatened, but also not ignoring his presence.

* * *

Having emptied her whole purse, she had found herself amidst a plethora of things. A bookshelf, two cauldrons, several potions, several empty potions-flasks, silverware, plates, cups, _the tent_ – along with its interior, a lot of books she had taken with her on the run, clothes to change, toiletries, a vacuum-sealed pack of beef-jerky, a conserve of goulash, a water-bottle, tea, potions ingredients, a first-aid kit, again books, a pair of Ronald's socks – she'd banished them upon sight – and a parcel within which she knew to be parchment, feather and ink.

She had promptly set up the tent, clearing it of its interior – especially of the bed, followed closely by the table and the chairs, as well as the basically built-in kitchen which, thankfully, worked neither with gas nor electricity but fire instead, and a small jewel that Hermione had found underneath Ron's bed when she'd transformed it into curtains for her window.

There, sitting innocently, had been an old recorder, obviously meant for vinyl-records, carefully stapled next to the dusty recorder. Upon inspecting the music, Hermione had decided that apparently Arthur Weasley had stowed them under the bed, hoping to keep it safe from Molly. But since they had _borrowed_ the tent from the Weasley family, and Hermione had casually kept it within her purse, it had left Arthur's world along with her – and now found itself in Narnia.

In Hermione's possession.

She had promptly transfigured the curtains into a wooden box within which she hid the recorder as well as the vinyls – she knew that the royals would be familiar with this kind of music, but then, the rest of the citizens probably wouldn't be.

Satisfied that she had looted everything useable from the tent she had collapsed it again and hid it away in the purse, setting to arrange her new home.

Now, a morning later, she had decided that she would set up a screen between the rest of her room and the bed because, well even if she lived alone, it was a very strange feeling to lie in her bed and be able to see all of her home.

The rain had woken her, creating a rustling sound on the grass that had only been cut the day before and, without hesitation, Hermione had woken and started to ward her house and home against the weather. But, maybe five minutes into her working, she was interrupted by knocking. Knocking, she quickly found out that was King Edmund himself.

"If you don't mind me saying, your majesty, but I think you picked a bad day.", she finally said, allowing herself to observe him from where she stood in her modified kitchen. He was silent as he watched her, saying nothing – taking it as a question, she continued. "I am pressed to do wand-work today, and… seeing as you are… cautious of it, I would assume it safe to call it a bad moment."

Still he didn't talk, but she could see in the added tension in his shoulders that she had been right with her words. Turning fully towards him, she frowned, biting her lip. She could see that he was uncomfortable around her, but why make an effort if, clearly he was not ready yet?

"Do not let yourself by hindered by my presence, Miss.", he said almost automatically – there was no feeling behind the words as far as Hermione could tell. Then why…?

Aslan, near the fire-place shook his mane, turning the other way as if to dry his other side as well, now looking her direction. For several seconds she observed the lion, repeating the question over and over in her head. Before she came abruptly to a solution: he did not trust her, and hence he wanted to find out about her, hope to find a hitch in her story, a dark intention for her future – he needed to convince himself that he was _right_ in not trusting her, and that was all the reason he was here, tense and quite ready to jump and run.

Ignoring the bundle of food in her kitchen, she carefully drew her wand, her eyes steady on his, before she turned to the wand she had been working on.

"_Impervious."_ She commanded, feeling the wall, almost immediately, grow resistant to the pelting rain from outside. "_Cave Inimicum." _Another ward adding to the layer. _"Defende." _Edmund, she could tell, was, while wary also curious about what she was doing – and she guessed that if he had the same inclinations as his sister had that he was able to _feel_ the wards she added. Godric, from his place in front of the hearth, observed her with curious eyes as well. _"Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum."_ There – she took a breath, the second wall was done.

Turning towards the Southern wall, she raised her wand again, aware of Edmund watching her every move, as she took up her casting again.

* * *

For a good hour she continued casting what he supposed was magic – he could feel it. The smooth warmth of it whirled all over the place, swept over him and blanketed him generously. Yet again he warred with himself.

In the presence of the White Witch he had never felt this safe, never this secure, this warm – especially not when she had cast her magic, he'd shivered most of the time she had raised her wand to cast.

But this witch's magic felt different. It was a pleasant hum around him, almost like a summer-breeze on his skin. Or it might have been the fire he was seated next to – he could not say for sure. What he knew was that she completely focused on her work with a discipline and concentration that was admirable. Not a single time did she stutter or waver in her movements.

Her wand was held delicately in her fingers, a light brown wood with intricate patterns carved onto it – he wondered what made a wand, but didn't dare ask for risk of ruining her attention and inadvertently her house, for all he knew an unfinished spell could have disastrous effects that would blow up her hut. He might not like her but in the current weather he wouldn't even send a dog outside.

It occurred to him then, almost an hour into her casting that he was mostly ill-informed about magic. There were no books, no lecture on the phenomenon that could have possibly helped him form an educated opinion.

His eyes strayed to the single bookshelf in her home – he was surprised to find that in a home filled with nothing but necessities, the witch had found a place for books, and a great number of them too. Rising, he cast a glance at the still engrossed witch, before he made his way silently to the shelf.

* * *

She did not know how long she worked, an hour for the walls, an hour for the roof probably and then some time to protect the soil she had built her house on… and then, to finish off, wards in a good distance around her house.

When she was done, though, her stomach was rolling loudly, protesting against her ignorance of her hunger. Edmund was silent and as she chanced a look into his direction, she found that he had sat down with what looked like _Hogwarts: A History_ – a good book to start with, she supposed.

Sitting up, she grimaced at the dense pain in her lower-back that came from sitting crouched too long in a not-all-that-comfortable position. Shaking out her limbs, she passed Aslan, scuffing him affectionately behind the ears and making her way towards the bundle that he had brought along earlier.

Opening it, she found an assortment of cheese, fruits, vegetables, ham and bread and decided that she would prepare it on a plate – for Edmund to taste from as well.

The King was lost in the book, much as she was when she had first read it and as she prepared a few slices of bread for him, he didn't even look up as he grabbed them, eye riveted to the old pages. He reminded her a lot of herself the way he acted, but she did not allow herself to state that particular thought out loud. Instead, she simply sat, watching the young man leaf through her book, taking in the history of her school.

As she ate, she thought about what to do that morning and, with a glance at Aslan, decided that it was time for her to go on a hunt – she needed to set up house, for real and that had to be done by stocking it… plus, she needed meat.

Having finished her breakfast and sharing parts of it with the King, still engrossed in the book, she stood, dusting herself off and preparing to leave for a hunt. Aslan stood as well, the King did not budge from his place on a chair, still busy reading when they silently slipped out of the hut, discussing already where they would like to hunt.

* * *

He did not even realize that they were gone.

So lost was he in the book that seemed to explain so much that he did not even look up, when Hermione chopped of a rabbit's head and started to skin it for an early dinner. Aslan, upon his return, butted his head cordially against his knee, but did not disturb him further.

It wasn't until when the witch placed a bowl of stew in front of him that he finally looked up. The outside was darker than just dark, considering the rainy weather whose clouds veiled the normally star-lit sky and it was still pouring down from the skies without an ending in sight.

Looking up at her, Edmund found that her features were relaxed, even in front of him – or perhaps especially in front of him? – her movements graceful and her words soft. Oh, words… damn she was speaking…

"-assured me at least ten times that this was a normal animal that I was allowed to hunt, so… well, there you go."

* * *

The three siblings were rather curious about Edmund's return to the castle – after all, he had been the main voice of protest whenever there had been breached a subject concerning the witch.

Susan had wagered that, due to the weather, Edmund would not even go down to Hermione. Peter had wagered that, in order not to kill her or himself, he'd be back by noon. Lucy, wisely, had kept her thoughts to herself and only shook her head at her oldest siblings. Edmund, she knew, was wise for his age and where there was reason he let himself be convinced. Hermione _had_ reason and she could show him what it meant if he trusted her, what it meant _for her_ to be a witch.

As the night fell, Lucy and her siblings sat in the throne room, the youngest busy with a book, the older two engrossed in a game of Chinese checkers.

The candles in the room flickered now and then, dancing in the light breeze that now and then managed to fight its way through the crack in the window-panes, but Lucy was glad to say that the stones their ancestors had chosen were gladly castle-stones and hence held the place warm, instead of making it drafty.

Rain pelted against the windows and she listened to its uneven rhythm and melody while next to her the fire burnt, cracking the logs in uneven periods – it was a strange hymn she had ensconced herself in, but she found that coupled with _Jane Eyre_ it was just simply perfect.

When Edmund arrived, Lucy stood ready to take off his wet travelling cloak, but found that her brother was as dry as on a sunny day, his eyes, beneath his hood were dancing strangely.

"Is that a book?", she asked curiously bending down to inspect whatever her brother had clutched to himself. Edmund, strangely, smiled softly before he smothered the expression and nodded blandly. Lucy hid her smile – Hermione knew apparently, just the way to convince her brother, after all, books were his weakness.

"How come you are dry in a weather like that?" Peter asked cordially standing from his seat – Susan had beaten him by the looks of it, but that was no surprise, Susan _loved_ checkers, had since the moment their father had taught her.

This time Edmund had little success keeping his face in the calm façade that he had somewhat managed at Lucy's question – instead he blushed, starting to fidget. _Too early_, Lucy thought, _Peter asked too early – Ed is not really ready for that confession yet._ Because, knowing her friend, she knew that what she saw in front of her was nothing else than clever wand-work from the witch living at the wood.

Aslan, next to him shook his mane – which, too was dry as on a sunny day. "I did not want to get wet… again, and hindered the rain from getting to us." He said, relieving the younger king of speaking – Lucy knew that it was not the truth, but Peter, tired and beaten at checkers bought it, shrugging. Only Lucy and Susan saw the wink of the lion.

"So then…" the older sister said, nearing Edmund, "what is your verdict?"

Their brother took down his hood, ruffling his hair. "Well… I'll have to get to know her better for really being able to make a verdict.", he said evasively as he made his way towards his chambers.

The two sisters looked at each other with a soft smile. Edmund would, sooner or later, too see the real Hermione – it would take him some time, no doubt, but he would be able to make the _just_ judgement.

* * *

**1/3 - please R&R =)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Funfact: did you know that since I've started publishing my stories on ff I've had 3 pennames? - But they'll stay a secret for now ;)**

* * *

It took not a week before finally Hermione had definitely set herself up for a passable life. Unfortunately that was also the time when the majority of the troops arrived.

Lucy was busy with welcoming, negotiating and entertaining the important guests that the welcomed, while Susan was busy planning what would be a ball – after all people _always_ needed a social gathering, even if it was ridiculous to hold one just before a _war_ for Christ's sake – Caspian had his hands full with the Telmarines and the delegated task of negotiating with forces yet to come. Edmund on his part was mostly ensconced in his library or he sat through meeting after meeting at his brother's side, discussing tactics with the war-lords that had arrived.

Edmund, when not busy with drawing battle plans or meetings, was busy devouring _Hogwarts: A History._ For such a relatively small book, it held loads of information – almost a whole history of the people that had founded, taught and learned at Hogwarts. And the book opened to Edmund a totally new world of wizardry and witchcraft.

For example, they could cure people with potions and spells, but unfortunately also kill with – indeed – nothing but a look if they were good enough.

* * *

It wasn't unusual for Hermione to stand up early and wander the lands around her, entering the larger woods over the river, stalk through the hip-hip grass – however, what was highly unusual for her was her mood.

Hermione was usually a busy person.

No matter if she was busy thinking about something, or remembering or coming up with a plan or simply about to do something – but today, her head was void. When she had sat up this morning and thought about her To-Do-List, she had realized that there was nothing she _had_ to do.

The day before, one of the extraordinarily hot ones this summer, she had gone to the river, sought a relatively deep spot and had proceeded to wash herself thoroughly and was promptly relieved that she had thought of at least a two-years supply of shampoo, soap and dental care. As she brushed her teeth, she relished in the cleansing feeling – who'd have known that filling her mouth with chemical foam could have such a relieving effect on her?

But now that she was cleaned, brushed and relieved of the dirt on her and in her hair, she realized that, not only was she alone, she also didn't have anything to do. Her kitchen was stocked with berries and wild fruit, a loaf of bread that she had swapped with the nearby farmer against a bit of fire-wood that the Talking Goat, Arinna, in her old days had difficulties producing. The peasant had been a little wary about her but, as soon as she'd been convinced that Hermione was no threat – as proven by the amnesty wristlet – she had little problem trading with her.

As Hermione traipsed through the wood, she thought frustrated about her dire wish to do _something_.

Why she should probably be training her swordsman-ship right now, or at least get her magic up to par – see if maybe she could focus enough to complete her list of achievements and add wand-less magic to silent magic which she had mastered during the war. When in Edmund's presence she made it a point to spell the charms out, figuring that he would have felt better when he at least had a chance of understanding it.

Latin might be a dead language, but even muggles could learn it in regular courses – and from what Lucy had confessed to her, Edmund had the largest library of the four siblings. Hermione sighed, oh what she wouldn't give to read a few new books. Admittedly there were several books at her home that she still hadn't read – but it was not the same as entering a library and borrowing a book from there, reading it until late in the night to be able to finish it as soon as possible.

Perhaps, she mused, entering the shade of a larger forest, she would construct a bench for sitting outside and reading there.

The skirt she had chosen that day was ankle-long, graciously covering her feet, which – while the least scarred – were still not a feature Hermione liked to show often. Her white shirt, while lightly woven, was long sleeved, but unfortunately not exactly high-collared, resulting in showing off the scar at her throat that Bellatrix' knife had left as well as the top-most peak of Dolohov's curse from her fifth year. Thankfully though, she was alone in the forest, and no one would be around for miles.

But exactly this peaceful silence, disturbed only by the gentle sway of the trees in the wind above her head, was forcibly ended when a panicked shriek pierced it. Not wasting a second, Hermione turned, running.

* * *

"And have you heard of Kundrah?", the fox asked the goose, standing over the hearth, cleaning it

"No.", the goose admitted, bending over a particularly vicious spot it seemed.

"Well, Mirdan told me just this noon that he had seen Kundrah leave for the forest behind the river… you know the one."

The goose thought for a while, trying to identify the forest that her fox-colleague meant. "The one with the solitary yew, you mean.", she finally said – the feline nodded.

"That's the one. Well… and you know Kundrah, part this, part that, she never does things the usual way and decided that she wanted, on her day off, to climb the yew and have a look."

"Did she try to spread her wings?" the goose asked shocked.

The Fox shrugged. "I guess – you never know with that child."

"Oh great Aslan… I have a feeling this story is not going to end well." The goose sat, obviously spooked – the fox placated her with raised hands.

"No need to panic, Aldeera." She comforted the shivering goose, before she wet her sponge, continuing to clean the pots. "Well, anyway, Kundrah… fell, right from the peak and it was said that that the witch was in the vicinity at that moment."

Aldeera, the goose, ruffled her feathers, earning a feral look. "Oh that… that… mongrel… if something happened to…"

Again the fox shook her head. "Quite the contrary, Aldeera, you see. The witch was around and, hearing Kundrah's scream, made her way towards our sorrow-child. Mirdan, the first to see Kundrah after her fall, asked her how she made it back and the child said: well, the witch dissipated the darkness around me, stifled the pain and then asked me if I wanted to be looked after my way or her way."

The goose had completely stopped her scrubbing – too curious to bother with any other activities. "And?", she asked when the fox stopped at the most inconvenient moment – the fox smiled.

"Well, Kundrah decided for her way and stood up, wings repaired with only a flick of the witch's wand – there's not even a scratch on Kundrah's skin."

The goose was silent then, starting to scrub the iron pots in front of her. "I didn't know witches could do something… useful." She admitted quietly. "But I guess I haven't ever really thought of it."

The fox shrugged. "She's only a person after all. And at least Kundrah has learned her lesson, no scratches or months of recovery needed."

When they were done, they cleared away their utensils, bowing to the four royalties sitting at the table in the kitchen, closest by the fire. "Have a good night, your majesties!"

"You too!" the Queen Lucy replied, waving at them, an enigmatic smile on her face.

* * *

Kundrah had to see it for herself.

When she had recounted what had happened to her to Mirdan, he had scolded her for trusting the witch. The badger had told her that she wasn't to be trusted – that she was bad, because all witches were bad.

But she had several years more on her shoulders than it appeared and she'd been born into the war with the Telmarines – and back then the man who'd called himself king had told them all that _they_ the Narnians were barbaric and not to be trusted, and before that she'd heard stories of a powerful woman who had reigned in hundred years of winter.

She knew that, theoretically, she wasn't a Narnian – she was also not a human, and not a Telmarine. She was… well, Kundrah was quite aware that she was what dwarves called a mutt, neither this nor that. Her mother, if she remembered clearly was a Telmarine – a beautiful woman, but unusual in her facial structure even for the folk East of Cair Paravel. From her mother she knew she'd inherited her dark black hair, the tanned complexion, the almond eyes and the full lips. Her nose though and… well, the wings and the tail, she wasn't so sure. She'd say that they were from her father, but she had little idea just _who_ or _what _her father had been – she'd never met him.

Which led the young girl to believe that she was, very probably, an accident of war, who knew – she was not as naïve to believe that her mother had _not_ truly left her when her wings had first started to show. From one day to another in her early life, the one pillar she'd believed in had been gone.

And since then it had been struggle.

And she had needed her intelligence – and her gut-feeling.

And she had to see for herself whether the woman that had healed her the day before really _did_ cook frogs in her cauldrons, creating potions in a plot to take over the throne, or if she truly did hold a raven that she shared her bed with.

However, as she snuck up to the whole that was, very obviously a window, Kundrah had to realize, very disappointedly, that despite it being a regular hole in the wall, she couldn't _see_ the inside.

Which was unusual, but then – she was trying to spy on a witch.

Curious and intrigued, Kundrah tip-toed towards the door – quietly slipping through it, praising well-oiled hinges; once inside, she looked for a place to hide but soon found that there was not much she would be able to hide behind. The witch was standing at her fireplace, stirring something in a cauldron that released a sweet smell in the air, but from her vantage point Kundrah could not see – and she knew that she had to find a hiding place before she'd be discovered and thrown out, as she mostly was.

* * *

Hermione smiled, observing, out of her corner, the young Narnian she had helped the day before.

When she'd arrived at the bottom of the great yew, she'd seen her lying there, the tips of wings in an odd angle beneath her unnaturally pale face, unbreathing. A quick spell had relieved that for the second her body had gone into shock from the pain – Hermione had acted quickly. Thankfully.

However, she was aware what the people were talking about her in the village of Cair Paravel and she had to admit that it was strangely similar to the animosity of the people towards knowledgeable women in the Middle Ages before the Witch Hunts had started.

The girl dithered from left to right, trying to find a place to hide, but Hermione's furniture was not elaborate enough to allow such a thing – still the witch allowed the girl a little time to orient herself and take a look at her house.

"You can come near, you know.", she said then, still watching from the corner of her eyes, bending over her cauldron and sniffing. The girl stiffened and Hermione turned towards her, smiling gently. "You don't have to of course – but you might as well."

* * *

Edmund had to see for himself.

Having heard the tale of the fox and goose the night before, he'd – today – witness the rumours spread. Of the ugly witch using the poor child named Kundrah for whatever evil purposes and all other rot – that was not what he wanted to see.

But on one hand he had to return, _Hogwarts: A History_ and on the other hand he had to see if it was true that Hermione had healed the unsuspecting inhabitant with her powers only.

Making his way towards the Witch's Hut – he thought the name had a nice ring to it… or perhaps the Witch's Cottage… but it was too small for a cottage – he could see that the door was opened and from inside came the joyous laughter of a young child. Quieting his steps, he edged closer, pressing against the entrance to peer into the hut.

"See, and this is a Patronus – it's a Protector from the dark."

A silvery otter sprouted from the tip of the witch's wand, scurrying through the hut and around the young child that clapped her hands excitedly, awing at the smoky-silver-streaks and laughing.

"And what about the potions, then?" the girl asked excitedly, watching as the otter disintegrated into nothingness. "Do you make potions?"

"Of course." The witch answered good-naturedly. "I attended a school for witchcraft where making potions was a subject. And we had the sternest professor of the whole school!" she exclaimed.

The girl awed. "And what could those potions do?"

"Well… our teacher said that anyone who accomplished a greater level could be taught to brew fame, bottle glory and even… put a stopper to death." He knew those potions, he'd read of them in her book and he also knew that Hermione very probably, with the right ingredients, was able to brew them.

"Say,", the witch then said, "is Kundrah even your real name?"

The girl – so _this_ was the Kundrah who'd been the talk of the town – smirked softly. "No, but Mirdan is already a little old and my name is… either too long, or too exotic for him, I don't know. We settled for Kundrah."

As he stepped into the hut, he was glad to notice that neither of the women noticed him – he was loath to disturb the scene as he knew he surely would. When Hermione bent forth though, riveting Kundrah's gaze to her, he knew that the witch had, at the very least, noted his presence, even if she hadn't seen him yet.

"So what _is _your name, little one?" She asked.

"Kunilea Drahamadaneda."

A Telmarine name, Edmund realized as he set _Hogwarts: A History_ back to the shelf, his fingers and eyes ghosting around for a new tome that would help him learn _more_. He knew that slowly he could form an opinion of the witch, and he also knew that it would be to her favour, but he could not help but wanting to get to know as much as possible – simply for the sake of learning.

And old textbook _History of Magic_ begged for his attention next and, not questioning the tingle in his fingers and his stomach as he stroked over the cover, he chose it.

"Hum." Hermione made from her seat. "How do you pronounce it correctly?"

"Cuh-nee-leya." Hermione repeated somewhat stuttering.

"Druh-h…" the witch tried – the girl shook her head. "No, no, no. It's a sound further down your throat, like a scratching noise…", she instructed. Hermione tried again. The girl nodded.

"Druh-huh-muh-duh-ne-duh."

Edmund barely resisted the snort that was definitely rising in his throat – Hermione was a quick study, but it was always funny to hear people try to learn a completely new language and make total… well, arses out of themselves on the first try. Still, he had to admit that Susan, for example, had fared a lot worse when she'd asked Caspian for lessons in his native-tongue.

Hermione tried again – absentmindedly Edmund nodded, as if in praise. Sighing the witch rose. "Well… would you mind me calling you Lea?" she asked the girl, stepping towards a cauldron that Edmund noticed only now, a dark, strangely textured goo blubbered within

The girl shook her head. "I think Lea is better than Kundrah – I actually think that name is, well lame. Stick together the first three letters of my first name and the first three letters of my last name – not very original."

Edmund smirked – he liked the girl in a way. Hermione turned towards him, nodding wordlessly at the new tome he held – he showed the title to her. The witch raised both eyebrows.

"Good riddance with that, your majesty." She said dryly, stirring her cauldron – curiously he neared it – "That subject was about the most boring I've ever had."

Now bent over the cauldron he realized that the substance within it released a sweet smell, familiar but also strange and exotic in a way. It held a black colour, the rims blood-red and the strange texture reminded him of… eyes, intestines. He grimaced. Kunilea had hopped up next to him, treating him indifferently, peering over the rim of the cauldron as well – the witch smiled, scooping a portion of the substance on a spoon, presenting it to him proudly.

"What the hell is that?", he asked not convinced.

"You astound me, your majesty. Have you truly never seen marmalade being cooked?" Hermione smirked.

Marmalade? That… that was jam? Closing in on the spoon he took a healthy whiff before all of a sudden the silverware vanished from Hermione's hands, greedily snatched by a smaller, tanner hand and before any of them could say something, Lea had swallowed it. Hermione's eyes widened.

"Hot…?" she tried to say, but apparently the young girl was not bothered, instead busy with tasting the jam. Finally swallowing, she returned the spoon to the witch – blushing only lightly.

"I've never had marmalade. Mirdan sells it and has me deliver it, as well as the honey, but I've never actually tasted it. It's… very sweet. What's in it?" she asked, her head bending back over the bubbling cauldron, surprised Edmund looked at the witch – she was surprisingly patient with the feisty, little intruder.

"Berries from the forest. Mostly strawberries, blackberries and raspberries – also a few elder berries – it gets its colour from the black berries and the elder berries."

Edmund looked at her with a slightly suspicious glint. "Are you sure you know what you collected?"

But the witch only smirked softly, bending over the cauldron and spooning a little for herself, tasting her marmalade. "We had a Herbology Class where we learned near to everything about nearly every plant on planet earth. I admit that there were a few curious plants I did not know in the forest as well, but I did not pluck them or put them into the marmalade. So yes, your majesty, I am quite sure that I know what I plucked."

Lea turned around from the cauldron and sent Edmund a strange look. "Why do you always second-guess her?" she asked in a semi-accusing tone.

Edmund only shrugged, nearing the cauldron again. "It's in my nature to second-guess things. So a major part of me just can't help it."

Hermione, next to him snorted, but when he turned to look at her she innocently offered him some of the marmalade still on the spoon and – not asking a question he opted for tasting the jam-in-making instead.

It was wonderful.

* * *

**2/3 - yay =) R&R please**


	13. Chapter 13

**And here we go - the third of three parts**

**please enjoy!**

* * *

Lucy watched her older brother curiously over breakfast.

Yesterday, to their surprise, he had come back with a new book – undoubtedly from Hermione's collection. Which meant that the King had gone there _himself_… alone. The youngest Pevensie smiled softly – she'd just _known_ that Edmund would see the light sooner or later. They didn't call him _The Just_ for nothing, after all. He made his decisions once they were informed decisions – and books were the most objective source of information he could possibly find.

However, if she was quite right, _that_ particular glass of jam had not been at the breakfast table the day before. She'd never seen such delicate glass-craft during her stay in Narnia – and what kind of name was _Slug & Jiggers_ anyway.

Mind you a Talking Animal Slug was possible, even though she'd never seen one, but she was sure that she had never seen the label before. Her older brother though was spooning the jam out of the glass with great gusto, smearing it liberally on his toast as he bent over the new book he'd lent from Hermione.

Carefully thinking over her plan of attack, Lucy bent in a smooth move and stole the glass of jam from Ed's side – grinning triumphantly when he looked up, suddenly noticing that his breakfast treat was no longer at his side. Not taking her eyes off him, she scooped up a generous amount and splashed it on her toast – taking a bite.

Surprised, she moaned – chewing. "This," she swallowed, "this is _good_!" she exclaimed. Actually a lot better than Mirdan's jams… even though she really shouldn't say that. The badger might be old, but he was still a genius when it came to sweets – but his jams… well they never quite reached this level.

Susan, next to her, spooned a bit from the glass and spread it on her dark bread, she hummed appreciatively, nodding. Edmund glared from over the rim of his book.

"Where'd you get this?" Susan asked intrigued. "It's like… a mash of berries. Mirdan doesn't do that, as far as I remember." She asked.

But Lucy didn't need to ask – she could add two and two. Edmund returning relatively late the day before, a book beneath his arm and a new glass of jam – it would also explain the foreign name on the glass. She smiled softly but decided that her brother's close season had come to an end. He was growing to like the witch, he was intrigued by the foreign world… and if he ate what she concocted, then he was ready.

"I think someone visited a certain witch, yesterday." She called in a simpering voice.

Edmund minimized in his seat, holding the book up to cover his face.

Susan though was ecstatic. "Hermione made this?" she asked giddily. "Well… this is perfect! It's seriously the best jam I've had in a while!"

Edmund peered over his book. "Don't let Mirdan hear you say that – otherwise our trump-card will soon be in more trouble than she could account for, the badger is a good person, but he's also a good gossip."

Lucy, despite cringing, knew that it was true. Mirdan was a good friend, and they loved his jams, especially since he was the only one around Cair Paravel who could make a decent marmite instead of… fruit soup. But well, he was also very well known for his very quick tongue and his ways around the society in in Cair Paravel.

Peter only smirked from his seat next to Edmund. "Why… you never told any of us you'd be going down to Hermione." He teased – her dark-haired brother glared.

"I wasn't aware my every step needed to be observed." He grouched back, making a show out of turning the page.

"Well… we would just have liked to know." Peter conceded. "After all, wouldn't have done for you to find out she's actually a witch and dying of a heart-attack."

Edmund stood. "Very well, I was wrong." He admitted. "Hear me? I was wrong about this particular witch – there are still witches from where she came from that are just like the White Witch and I am rather safe than sorry."

And before he left he snatched the glass of marmalade back from in-between Susan and Lucy. The two sisters giggled silently, but said nothing. Lucy, secretly, was glad that Ed had come about and that he had admitted to being wrong, if he continued like this then he'd become a very respectable man one day.

* * *

Kunilea floated mindlessly in the river behind Hermione's house. Mirdan had… not been happy this noon.

Apparently a silly goose in the kitchen of the castle had overheard the royalties praising a jam that had not been Mirdan's – instead a glass of Hermione's jam seemed to have found its way on the breakfast table of the majesties. And Lea knew that probably Edmund had taken it with him.

Mirdan had known of her stray to Hermione's place the day before and had, single-handedly thrown her out of his business – effectively making her homeless. She was glad though that the badger had no violent tendencies at least or she would surely have found herself out on her blue-beaten arse instead of just out of business.

Nevertheless, Lea had to admit that with being thrown out of the business, she had no-where to go now, and no idea of what to do now. No business meant no money and no roof over her head; no money meant no food and well… no roof over-head was just that.

Concentrating hard on her situation, she floated in the gentle sway of the river, allowing the River God to take care of her. She was not really surprised to find that the first witch of Cair Paravel lived only a few steps away from a River God. A strange sound caught her attention.

While he ears were under-water, she had listened to the happy gurgling of the river, but now there was something new – a splash, several, irregular. Frowning Lea sat up, shaking her head to get a clear look; above her sat Hermione, her feet in the water next to hers kicking her legs and smiling at her.

The young girl decided that, if the witch had helped her once, she might as well tell her of her problem. Maybe the witch had ways of knowing things.

* * *

She was about to go down to Hermione's hut, when she noticed the unusual commotion in the market place. There was a huge gathering and Susan supposed that, judging by the angry cries of the mob, whatever was the centre of their attention it could be nothing good.

Carefully she dove her way through.

"Master Mirdan, I understand that you should be angry at me," she heard, still diving through the masses, "but, please, there is little reason to be so harsh to the girl."

And then she finally stood right at the centre – shocked to see Hermione, dressed in an uncanny cloak of midnight colour talking calmly to a clearly enraged badger that was Mirdan. His short arms were crossed in front of his chest and he shook his head.

"No! The girl betrayed my business secrets and stole the jam into the castle – she is responsible for the deliverance. I have no reason at all to take that little good-for-nothing mongrel back in."

Susan raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" she asked gently, stepping forth from the crowd that hushed its enraged cries. Master Mirdan as well as Hermione bowed before addressing her.

"My deliverance girl, Kundrah, had the audacity to deliver to the castle a jam that was not mine and therefore I kicked her out. Now this… this… _she_", he finally wrung out, pointing his clawed fingers at Hermione who was gracefully silent, "demands I take the urchin back so the girl can continue to deliver _her_ jams instead of mine and get paid! It's unfathomable!" The badger cried – outraged.

Susan bit her lip. Hermione had apparently wished to calmly intervene, not counting on the badger to make such a scene and had not yet brought forth the truth.

"Ummm… Master Mirdan, I am very sorry to inform you, that Hermione is in her right to ask so." She started, noticing the widening of the badger's eyes. "You see, my brother, King Edmund, visited her the last night and came home with a glass of the home-cooked jam of Hermione which she offered him. And therefore your deliverance girl, Kundrah, has little to do with it."

For a moment the badger looked surprised, before his eyes hardened sliding over to the witch then back to her again.

"I still see no reason to take the girl back in. If she consorts with that _scum_ then she has chosen her consorts already – I do not wish to be relayed to her."

Susan bit her lip – Hermione stood, stony-faced. "Then, unfortunately, Master Mirdan," said the queen as she stepped forth, "I fear that you will no longer wish to deliver your delicious jams to the castle." She said, stepping towards Hermione, who looked every ounce surprised.

"Everyone!" Susan commanded. "Hear me! The reason why we, the Royals of Narnia, Kings and Queens of Old have allowed this witch to remain so close to Cair Paravel is Aslan, The Great Golden Lion, who declared this woman as a descendant of his, a follower of his path and a warrior for the light."

This time she linked her arm with Hermione, behind whose cloak, she could only now see the girl Kundrah hiding.

"I, Queen Susan choose to stand by her side, in my own name and right and will not allow threats or injuries to her name."

Silence settled over the market place and, realizing that no one would speak against her, Susan gently tugged the witch's arm and led her out of the village towards her hut.

* * *

"Do you think that was a wise move?", asked Edmund in the evening, bent over a game of checkers with her in front of Hermione's fire-place, where she was cooking potatoes and an animal that she had gathered freshly from the woods.

Hermione, she knew, would listen to their conversation, but also not make it a point to butt in.

"You mean me standing up like that?", she asked in return moving one of her tiles, gaining two of his. He nodded, looking over the set before he made his move with a black tile, gaining, in return, two of hers as well in a well calculated move. She shrugged. "Honestly, I couldn't very well tell the assembled crowd that there is a war with the Giants looming and that Hermione is the key-player on our side."

Edmund nodded. "Mass hysterics and spies." He sighed. "The best friends of a ruler."

Smiling wryly Susan bent back over their game – playing with Edmund was always a challenge. He was a quick and very strategic mind, but Susan despised always playing with Peter, who, hot-headed as he was, usually ran right into her traps and made winning much too easy. Ed, at least, kept her on her toes. She moved a pile.

"Exactly." She said, leaning back and waiting for his reaction – as assumed, he did not fall for her trap, but smirked at her. Susan tilted her head up, looking at the wooden construct of the roof that she had helped built – it was a strangely satisfying thing to see something she had helped create hold so robustly. "And Master Mirdan was not at all happy with my words. I don't think we'll be able to rely on our usual delivery of jams by the next week."

Moving a pile that Susan had let completely aside, she watched as he now took a pile of hers. Content with his move he relaxed on his chair. "I think it's a little price to pay all in all – and even Master Mirdan will realize that, unfortunately probably rather sooner than later."

Thrown of kilter by the last, groaned sentence Susan stopped her moving hand and looked up at Edmund. "Are they moving already?"

Her brother shook his head. "No worries there, they are still recruiting, but their army is gaining a lot more inlet than we had originally assumed. I don't know where they all come from, but there's dwarves now as well, a large number of wolves and minotaurs, not to forget that the Giants themselves are not that small a number once they huddle together. I don't think that this will be the walk in the park the Lords had expected it to be."

Susan snorted. "When is war ever a walk in the park?", she asked shaking her head. Their Lords were truly something – had they learned nothing from the last invasion of Telmarines?

Not fully concentrated, she pushed a pile and was surprised when Edmund blinked in his seat, apparently completely irritated that she had made a move he had not anticipated. He looked at her.

"I know. But then, they are mostly young – their fathers lead the troops in the last war and all they really know of war is the politics."

Susan's brow furrowed. "But it was only five years ago." She insisted – Edmund shook his head.

"You see, the age of a knight… or a warrior is really, really limited. Considering that, at forty, your body starts to degenerate naturally, add several battle wounds and a really unhealthy way to live what with all the wine most of the old Lords consumed plus the unhealthy food and… well no theoretically that should actually lengthen their lives." He waved the thought away – ignoring the snicker in the background. "Anyway, what I actually wanted say was that the life of a knight and warrior is generally limited and that they were old already when they fought the last battle with us, but back then their sons were not prepared for leading – therefore they did. But now, five years later they have allowed their sons to take over. And they, unfortunately, have little idea about how to fight a battle."

As she pondered on his words, he pondered on their game, soon deciding on a move – she could tell that the game was coming to an end and until now, they were evenly matched, it was going to be a close call.

"But our number should be even, shouldn't they?"

Edmund grimaced. "In head-count, yes. But a single giant accounts for at least four of our soldiers, ten if he's on rampage." He ruffled his hair, uncomfortable. "It… well it seems a little despairing even though we are still waiting for answers from some Lords."

Moving a pile, Susan thought on it. It was true, at least three Dukedoms had not yet responded and she knew that they would need them. For some time neither of them spoke and when she looked up again, she found that Edmund's focus was no longer on the checker board anymore, but at someone behind her. She smiled, turning to see Hermione bustling in the kitchen, separating the dinner evenly on four plates.

"Say… Hermione… in that book I borrowed…" Edmund started and Hermione, turning raised an eyebrow.

"Which one of them? Because I _know_ I borrowed you two, but I also know that you're a little… greedy when it comes to books." She smirked good-naturedly. Susan's gaze flittered to Ed, whose cheeks coloured slightly, but it might as well have been the warmth from the fireplace over which the potatoes had stewed.

"Well… a spell-book actually." He admitted, looking sheepish one moment and completely regal and sincere the next. "In there the author spoke of golems I think."

Hermione slowed her puttering down until it stopped completely and the witch turned looking at them. When she had stopped to wear her foreign clothes Susan did not know, but as she looked at the young woman in front of her now, she saw a skirt where once had been trousers, a long-sleeved blouse where once had been a shirt and a broad belt in which she secured her sword when she went out.

"Well…", the witch chewed on her lip. "Technically producing a single golem takes a month, so I don't think that is what you would really want to go for but… there… is another way."

Susan turned, looking at the witch who was chewing her lip as if contemplating if she truly wanted to tell them.

"I have a certain affinity… for conjuring things from earth and… in the war I helped a professor of mine to… well, quite frankly to stamp earthen soldiers from the ground technically."

Ed made a surprised noise, Susan pulled a moue. "But didn't Aslan say you have a pact with the fire?" he asked, confused. Hermione smiled, nodding.

"I said I have an affinity for the Earth, but I have a pact with the fire – it's two different things where I came from. But for now let's eat a little."

As the witch turned to fetch the little Telmarine girl, Edmund looked after her with a peculiar gleam in his eyes – Susan, as she observed him, did not quite know what the gleam meant, she couldn't remember an instance she'd seen it… although, although it was so familiar just not, not in Edmund's eyes.

* * *

**3/3 youpi! That's all folks (for today) - please R&R - more chapters are on their way =)  
**


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